Luyện nghe bài hát Gold

A-yo shorty, yo my word
Oh, y'all smelling y'all piss now y'all think y'all
Yo get caught flinging
Over here, I'm returning 'em, that's my word they getting
Anything 220 to 140, that's mine
Y'all need to the fuck off
Y'all niggas ain't for real

Yo, the fiends coming fast enough
is no cut that's pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
Product be sold 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 to make noise
So I can blast a and his boys,for what?
He pushed up on the and made the dope sales drop
Like the 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 sleeping on the bench, had him wired
Peeped my convo, the of my condo
And how I a nigga name to John Doe
And we set up camp, we got vamped
Put the stake through his heart, I his fucking fangs apart
Snake got smoked on the set like Lee
Blown out the like Pan Am Flight 103
He got swung on, his lungs was
A kingpin castled with his rook and lost a pawn
A on the block that played lookout
For playing predator with a Glock, he should took out

No is rough enough
There is no that's full enough
I fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be to you

Fiends coming fast enough
is no cut that's pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
Product must be to you

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

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

No neighborhood is enough
is no clips that's full enough
I can't fold, I gold, I re-up and reload
Product must be to you

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