Luyện nghe bài hát Hive

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

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

From a city 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
news: death's less important when the Lakers lose
There's in that baby food, heads try to make it through
Fish-netted legs for them that she cater to
dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to
So I sit, eye in the pyramid
God spit it like it's truth in that beer and then
Disappear again, bearded
On top of a lear, it into the kids' ear again
of the backdrop music
For the crack rock user and the mascot,
Rawer than the skinned cap on the blacktop
Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the
Striking, wait, wait, who the you badder than?
Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the and shit
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 don't with no cop
(Rolling that flow swamp)
Catch me over top
(Rapping to coke rock)
(Passionless in old clothing
With them doors open)
(Dim the lights, focused)
Like it's nothing, it's nothing, bitch

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

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