Luyện nghe bài hát Gold

A-yo shorty, yo my word
Oh, y'all smelling y'all now y'all think y'all gold
Yo anybody get flinging
Over here, I'm returning 'em, my word they getting blasted
Anything 220 to 140, that's mine
Y'all need to step the off
Y'all niggas crazy for real

Yo, the fiends ain't coming fast
There is no cut that's pure
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
Product be sold to you

I'm deep down in the back streets, in the of Medina
to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor
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 the dope sales drop
Like the crash in the Dow stock
I had a connect to cross-sales, to more mill's
Than ho-bitches got birth control
I'm in the park setting up a deal over fire
Bum nigga on the bench, they had him wired
my convo, the address of my condo
And how I a nigga name to John Doe
And while we set up camp, we got
Put the stake through his heart, I his fucking fangs apart
got smoked on the set like Brandon Lee
Blown out the frame like Pan Am 103
He got swung on, his lungs was
A kingpin just with his rook and lost a pawn
A regular on the block that lookout
For playing predator a Glock, he should have took out

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

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

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

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

No is rough enough
There is no that's full enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
Product must be to you

There's no cuffs that's enough
is no niggas that's fuck with us
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
Product be sold to you