Luyện nghe bài hát Guess Who's Back

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

who's bizack?
You still smelling in my clothes
Don't make me have to relapse on these
Take it out to taxing them roads
When I was hugging it, niggas couldn't do nothing it
Straight from the oven with it, came from the
I emerged from it all without a stain on my
You can blame my old earth, for the shit she in me
with me, pain plus work
Shit she me milk this game for all it's worth
That's right, these niggas fuck with me
I'm calling guts time, drag my nuts every time
Homey, we make a combination don't we?
Me and the Face Mob, time we face-off
Face it y'all, y'all niggas playing ball
I'm on the like I'm eight feet tall
Homey, I'm in the drop the AC on
That's why the, streets me dawg, I'm so cool!

who's bizack?
Back on the with the old Face Mob
Mack Mittens and
Don't make me
Back to the with the fo'
Cuz this shit is all I know

From the to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoon
to make me forty thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, stars and goons
Plain clothes run in my room
But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Mob
Started an eightball, gotta get this cake dawg
niggas 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 grind mo', up in the paper chase
I wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy the 88
Don't got no wholesale, that ain't how I wanna run it
Here take these five stones and bring a back a hundred
Gotta see my feet dude, you do shit a do
The get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets fool
is an issue, and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
Ya block warm, then I come by with the
And make fa' sho' I get to mines, for part of the time
We go to war and you ain't a dime (ha ha!)
Cause I got, shit to lose, a out here payin his dues
My walking gotta get him some shoes
It's a new game doing, lemme give ya the
Get outta line and give ya the blues
It's a new game doing, lemme give ya the
Get outta line and give ya the blues, whoa!

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

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