Luyện nghe bài hát Gossip

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

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

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

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

And my flow is rare, these other rappers
These other rappers bark, some of 'em even
But I'm much more bright, I the game sight
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, criticizin'
You should realize I am and start epitomizin'
Legitimate, I got the heart of the biggest
I'm confident fuck 'em all pull out my dick and ride it

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

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

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

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

Hey, I been good to you?
(Think it over)
Tell me, I been sweet to you?

Drag my through the mud
I come out cast away stones
I won't blink
A gun is not a math
I won't think

Just leave you dead like the under my sink
Don't in me, don't believe me
I've from hungry
And it to greedy

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

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

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

I'm not I'm alive