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 a lil' bit
Okay, now we with it
The boy Face on the line, Face - Mob!
Welcome to New York City, ya boy Young Hov' chea
Kanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's going on
Can I talk to for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute
Just gimme a minute of ya time baby - I want much (whoo!)
Lemme talk to motherfuckers, uhh

Guess who's
You still smelling crack in my
Don't make me have to on these hoes
Take it back out to them roads
When I was it, niggas couldn't do nothing with it
Straight from the oven with it, from the dirt
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 work
Shit she made me this 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 make a combination don't we?
Me and the Mob, every time we face-off
Face it y'all, y'all niggas playing ball
I'm on the block like I'm eight tall
Homey, I'm in the drop the AC on
why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!

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

the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoon
Trying to me forty thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, rock stars and
clothes wanna run in my room
But nigga guess who's It's ya boy Face Mob
Started with an eightball, get this cake dawg
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 grind mo', rapped up in the chase
I fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88
got no wholesale, cause that ain't how I wanna run it
Here take five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
Gotta see my dude, you do shit a fiend do
The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the fool
Money is an issue, and that's on the fa' my nizzle
Ya block warm, then I by with the fizzle
And make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for of the time
We go to war and you making a dime (ha ha!)
Cause I got, to lose, a nigga out here payin his dues
My walking gotta get him some shoes
It's a new doing, lemme give ya the rules
Get outta line and give ya the blues
It's a new game doing, lemme ya the rules
Get outta and I'ma 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 the plastic rips
A hot make ya swell up if ya gasket clicked
You can make ya chips swell up, ya don't have to
Play them corners like a safety, the traffic switch
Young'n never fake, and you'll get past the blitz
And keep ya hood on flip, like on box-spring
Pissy and shit, low old box of things
Strictly glassy shit, I hug the block like a quart of
Shit I used to hug a like a old deuce and a quarter
Till like deuce in the morning, the old heads
loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)
Still fucking with them addicts
Still with that black-matic

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