Luyện nghe bài hát Hive

Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick
Quick buck, maybe a chain
With that fucking flow s-s-so belittles men
tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished
Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, listen
The description fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it
In turn, these critics and interns admitting the shit
It just burn like six writ it
It affixed them digits, and simultaneously
"Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, he?"
One adolescent, fucking energy
And crawling fax like a rich nigga centipede
Crack ceramic and a hand out of cash account
Stamp and shouting, thrashing, niggas done let the Kraken out
Crack-a-lackin', like snap, crackle, your ammo off
Hide your face, and throw flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga
(Sweatshirt, nigga)

'87 roof top,
Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw
(Brutus in booth, double scoop, hock vomit up)
(Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas loose)
Bruh, I don't with no cop
(Rolling that flow swamp)
Catch me stove top
(Rapping to that rock)
(Passionless in old clothing
With them doors open)
(Dim the lights, focused)
Like it's nothing, it's nothing, bitch

From a that's recession-hit
With stress niggas could flex metal with, to rake pennies in
Desolate testaments trying to Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay
Breaking death's less important when the Lakers lose
There's lead in baby food, heads try to make it through
Fish-netted legs for eyes that she cater to
Ride as the fucking sky that you praying to
So I sit, eye in the pyramid
God spit it it's truth serum in that beer and then
Disappear again, reappear
On top of a lear, steering it the kids' ear again
Provider of the backdrop
For the crack rock and the mascot, Earl
than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop
Salivary glands, fluid for the matchbox
Striking, wait, wait, who the you badder than?
Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and
Spitter of the Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage

'87 roof top,
Whipping tryna boost raw chronic
(Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock up)
(Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas loose)
Bruh, I fuck with no cop
(Rolling with that swamp)
Catch me stove top
(Rapping to coke rock)
(Passionless in old clothing
With them doors open)
(Dim the lights, focused)
Like nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch

Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you ain't about shit
around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz
Bulletproof outfits, concealed
I'm ready to kill, so it, all my weapons is real
Selling thizz, couldn't him what the recipe is
Got 'em wishing they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers
Send chills up spines of fat after
Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how
and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money
Little boy told me when it's to ride, they'll send them for me
Ain't nobody me, niggas ain't prepared for heat
hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit
If this was '88, I have signed to Ruthless
Nine-four, had them walking down Death Row
First is the best go, hate is what the rest do
inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you"
So it's Raging season
That big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless
Everybody hard until it's God they seeing
soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don't believe it
But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the
Heat your home like Southern Gas, police pass
Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm the heat drawn
Strapped up long as the for police armed
where the beasts are, north of the Beach
A couple streets Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks
with the pork face, Jewish for the court case
Here to save you from the sorbet, Coldchain

Like it's nothing, it's nothing, bitch