Luyện nghe bài hát Guess Who's Back

to me man
This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the noise up
We'll get into the proceedings this evening
Headphones are distorting, bring it down a bit
Okay, now we working it
The boy Face on the bass line, - Mob!
Welcome to New York City, it's ya boy Young Hov'
Kanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, going 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!)
talk to these motherfuckers, uhh

Guess 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, couldn't do nothing with it
Straight from the with it, came from the dirt
I emerged from it all without a stain on my
You can my old earth, for the shit she instilled in me
Still me, pain plus work
Shit she made me milk game for all it's worth
That's right, these can't fuck with me
I'm calling guts every time, drag my nuts every
Homey, we a great combination don't we?
Me and the Face Mob, every time we
Face it y'all, y'all niggas playing basic
I'm on the block like I'm eight feet
Homey, I'm in the with the AC on
why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!

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

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

Guess 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 the plastic rips
A hot plate'll make ya up if ya gasket clicked
You can ya chips swell up, ya don't have to pitch
them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch
Young'n pump fake, and you'll get past the blitz
And ya whole hood on flip, like on box-spring
Pissy 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 deuce in the morning, with the old heads
Slanging quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)
Still with them crack addicts
Still with that black-matic

Guess who's
Back on the block the old Face Mob
Mittens and Hov'
Don't me relapse
Back to the block the fo'
Cuz this shit is all I know