Luyện nghe bài hát Gold

[Intro: Method

Shorty, yo that's my word
Oh, y'all smellin piss now y'all think y'all gold
Yo anybody get playin
Over here, I'm returnin em that's my word that they be
Anything from to one-fourty, that's mine
Y'all niggaz step the off
niggaz ain't crazy for real

[Chorus:

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

[Verse Genius]

I'm deep down in the back streets - in the heart of
About to set off something more than a misdemeanor
Under the subway, waiting for the train to make
So I can blast a nigga and his - for what?
He pushed up on the block and made the dope drop
Like the crashin of Dow stock
I had to connect to seals, to catch more mil's
Than ho-bitches got control pills
I'm in the park, settin up a deal over fire
Bum niggaz on the bench, they had em wired
Peeped my convo, the address of my
And how I changed a nigga name to Doe
And we set up camp, we got Vamp
Put the stake his heart, I ripped his fucking fangs apart
Snake got smoked on the set Brandon Lee
Blown out the frame, like Pan Am 103
He got on, his lungs was torn, the
kingpin just castled his rook and lost a pawn
A regular on the block, and played
For playing predator a glock, he should have took out

No is rough enough
There is no clip that's enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload
Product be sold to YOU

The fiends ain't coming enough
There is no cut that's pure
I can't fold, I need gold, I and reload,
must be sold to YOU

[Verse Genius]

mandatory that
I supply all my troops with firearms
Big apes, and spread em out like on a farm
to get CREAM, sometimes repaint the scene
Like the episode on gates and other niggaz
plant bombs til the from the blast becomes thick
and through all they knew, he's gun sick
His glock clicks, like high-heeled shoes on floors
Mad sick, stand on and invade wars
Filthy foul, shoveling dirt, he's out to
For instance, off hands, attack worth
His idols would lock down airports and extort
some import, catchin ten of what the fiends snort
Up in the ski resorts, up in
They move keys and had skis making on snowmobiles
The plan was to expand, catch seven figures, release
And live and bigger than my nigga
Who promised his moms a mansion mad rooms
She died, and he still put a hundred in her tomb
wounds, he hid behind closed doors
And still organized and drug wars

The fiends ain't fast enough
There is no cut full enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
must be sold to YOU

No neighborhood is rough
There is no clips full enough
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
Product must be to YOU

The peers that come is enough
There is no niggaz fucking up
I can't fold, I need gold, I re-up and
Product be sold... to YOU