Luyện nghe bài hát Gossip

I hate and I don't walk around lookin' for it, you know?
But yesterday it seemed to just wander on till it me
You know like, gossip found me, why don't you try provin' it
How? You don't how to prove it?
Well, would you just do is
Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,
Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,

Stop, hatin' on a that is a weak emotion, the lady of a nigga
And you can get tipped ya waitin' on a nigga
Put a bag and an apron on the nigga

I my all behind the mic
But you could never see, if you sit behind the
You don't have to me to win the title fight
But I'm gone wear championship belt so tight

And if I'm wrong, there is no
And if I'm wrong, is no white
I'm tryna to be
But you in my hair like to fuckin' pull lice

And my flow is rare, these rappers nice
These other rappers bark, some of 'em even
But I'm much more bright, I give the game
So before you dim the you just might, might wanna

Think it
(Think it over)
Ooh, it over
(Think it baby, baby)

Get 'em
Stop, analyzin'
You should realize what I am and start
Legitimate, I got the heart of the lion
I'm like fuck 'em all pull out my dick and ride it

My flow sick, so sick, like my shit is dyin'
It rains a lot in my city, because my cryin'
Because my city's still I emerge from all of that
I am a livin' pion-eer, Zion

God, not them
Steer my Coupe through the streets of the boot and soowoop
And, I leave blood in a boot, I leave a blood bath
there's a tub in the boot, now where the drugs at?

I'm like the strings on a shoe, no nigga bug that
I'm like the strings on a boot
Now at New at

I feel pop stole me like a bus pass
So in your possession, ah ah, I ask

Hey, haven't I been good to
(Think it over)
me, haven't I been sweet to you?

Drag my through the mud
I out clean cast away stones
I even blink
A gun is not a problem
I even think

Just leave you dead like the mink under my
believe in me, don't believe me
I've graduated from
And made it to

My is like pasta
it and eat it
But I'm need g's
If I'm the zeedy

You niggas want
I want a and uh, we be
Lost in Amsterdam or Jamaica we be
Hard body nigga, just takin' it
All about my paper, 'bout my paper like

Why do Why do rappers?
Lie to fans, lie to rappers, lot of
Lie like actin', cut the cameras
Cut the check fuck your props
And it out to Mr.Hip Hop

I'm not dead I'm