Luyện nghe bài hát Guess Who's Back

to me man
This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the motherfucking up
get right into the proceedings this evening
Headphones are distorting, bring it a lil' bit
Okay, now we with it
The boy Face on the line, Face - Mob!
Welcome to New York City, it's ya boy Young chea
Kanye West on the (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's going on now?
Can I talk to y'all for a minute? talk to y'all for a minute
Just gimme a minute of ya time baby - I don't want (whoo!)
Lemme talk to motherfuckers, uhh

who's bizack?
You smelling crack in my clothes
Don't me have to relapse on these hoes
Take it back out to taxing them
When I was hugging it, niggas couldn't do with it
Straight from the oven with it, came from the
I from it all without a stain on my shirt
You can blame my old earth, for the shit she in me
Still with me, pain plus
Shit she me milk this game for all it's worth
That's right, niggas can't fuck with me
I'm calling guts every time, my nuts every time
Homey, we a great combination don't we?
Me and the Face Mob, every we face-off
Face it y'all, y'all playing basic ball
I'm on the block like I'm eight tall
Homey, I'm in the drop the AC on
That's why the, embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!

Guess bizack?
Back on the block the old Face Mob
Mittens and Hov'
Don't me relapse
Back to the with the fo'
Cuz street shit is all I know

From the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a
to make me forty thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, rock and goons
clothes wanna run in my room
But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Mob
Started with an eightball, gotta get this cake
Give a break, nah, you know how the game go
Fuck you think I slang fo', to go the grain (no)
I'm out here to mo', rapped up in the paper chase
I wanna fuck a hoe and candy paint the 88
Don't got no wholesale, cause ain't how I wanna run it
Here take these stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
Gotta see my feet dude, you do a fiend do
The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the fool
Money is an issue, and on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
Ya block warm, then I come by the fizzle
And make fa' sho' I get to mines, for part of the time
We go to war and you ain't making a (ha ha!)
Cause I got, shit to lose, a nigga out here payin his
My walking gotta get him some shoes
a new game doing, lemme give ya the rules
Get outta line and I'ma give ya the
It's a new doing, lemme give ya the rules
Get outta line and give ya the blues, whoa!

who's bizack?
The boy B. Mizack, a.k.a. Mr.
Turn a one from a half a brick, look I mastered this
You can smell it once the rips
A hot plate'll make ya up if ya gasket clicked
You can make ya chips swell up, ya don't have to
them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch
Young'n never pump fake, and you'll get the blitz
And keep ya hood on flip, like on box-spring
Mack and shit, low old box of things
Strictly shit, I hug the block like a quart of water
I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter
Till like deuce in the morning, the old heads
Slanging loose quarters, this Philly cat back (had it)
Still fucking with them addicts
Still busting that black-matic

Guess who's
Back on the block with the old Mob
Mack and Hov'
Don't make me
to the block with the fo'
Cuz this street is all I know