Luyện nghe bài hát Gossip

I hate gossip and I walk around lookin' for it, you know?
But yesterday it seemed to just wander on it found me
You know like, gossip me, then why don't you try provin' it
How? You don't how to prove it?
Well, what 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 like ya waitin' on a
Put a body bag and an on the nigga

I give my all the mic
But you could never see, if you sit the light
You don't have to pick me to win the title
But I'm gone wear that championship 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 bitches in my hair like to fuckin' pull

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My flow is pasta
it and eat it
But I'm gone g's
If I'm the zeedy

You want beef?
I a steak and uh, we be
Lost in Amsterdam or Jamaica we be
Hard nigga, just takin' it easy
All about my paper, 'bout my paper Eazy

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

I'm not I'm alive