Luyện nghe bài hát Gold

A-yo shorty, yo that's my
Oh, y'all smelling y'all piss now y'all y'all gold
Yo anybody get caught
Over here, I'm 'em, that's my word they getting blasted
from 220 to 140, that's mine
Y'all need to the fuck off
Y'all niggas ain't crazy for

Yo, the fiends coming fast enough
There is no cut that's pure
I can't fold, I gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be to you

I'm deep down in the back streets, in the heart of
About to set off something more deep than a
Under the subway, waiting for the train to make
So I can blast a and his boys,for what?
He pushed up on the block and made the sales drop
the crash in the Dow Jones stock
I had a connect to cross-sales, to catch mill's
Than ho-bitches got control pills
I'm in the park setting up a over blunt fire
Bum nigga on the bench, they had him wired
Peeped my convo, the address of my
And how I a nigga name to John Doe
And we set up camp, we got vamped
Put the stake through his heart, I ripped his fucking apart
got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee
Blown out the like Pan Am Flight 103
He got swung on, his lungs was
A kingpin just with his rook and lost a pawn
A regular on the block that played
For predator with a Glock, he should have took out

No neighbourhood is enough
There is no clip that's enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
must be sold to you

Fiends ain't coming enough
There is no cut pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
must be sold to you

It's mandatory I supply all my troops with mega firearms
Big apes and spread 'em out like on a farm
To get cream, sometimes they repaint the
Like the episode on gates, and other niggas
Plant bombs till the smoke the blast becomes thick
And flows through, all knew, he's gun sick
His Glock clicks like high-heeled shoes on parquet
Mad sick, on hills and invade wars
foul, shovelling dirt, he's out to hurt
For instance, chop off hands, attack
His idols would down airports and extort
Some import, catching ten percent of the fiends snort
Up in the ski resorts, up in
They keys and had the skis making drops on snowmobiles
The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, triggers
And live large and bigger than my
Who promised his moms a mansion with mad
She died and he put a hundred grand in her tomb
Open wounds, he hid closed doors
And still organized his and drug wars

Fiends ain't coming enough
There is no cut that's pure
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
must be sold to you

No is rough enough
There is no clips that's enough
I can't fold, I gold, I re-up and reload
Product be sold to you

There's no cuffs tight enough
There is no niggas that's with us
I fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be to you