Luyện nghe bài hát Gold

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

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

I'm deep down in the streets, in the heart of Medina
to set off something more deep than a misdemeanor
Under the subway, waiting for the train to noise
So I can a nigga and his boys,for what?
He up on the block and made the dope 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 up a deal over blunt fire
Bum nigga sleeping on the bench, had him wired
my convo, the address of my condo
And how I changed a nigga name to Doe
And we set up camp, we got vamped
Put the through his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs 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 castled his rook and lost a pawn
A on the block that played lookout
For playing predator a Glock, he should have took out

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

Fiends coming fast enough
There is no cut that's pure
I fold, I need gold, I re-up and reload
must be sold to you

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

Fiends ain't fast enough
There is no cut pure enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
must be sold to you

No neighborhood is enough
There is no that's full enough
I fold, I need 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
must be sold to you