Luyện nghe bài hát Hive

Promise Heron put my fist up after I get my dick sucked
Quick buck, maybe a gold
that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men
They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am
Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, listen
The description fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it
In turn, critics and interns admitting the shit spit
It just burn like six writ it
It learning them digits, and simultaneously
"Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, he?"
One adolescent, fucking six-nigga
And down fax like a rich nigga centipede
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, poppin' ammo off
Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt,
(Sweatshirt, nigga)

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

a city that's recession-hit
With stress niggas could metal with, peddle to rake pennies in
Desolate testaments trying to Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just pregnant
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
Ride as the fucking sky that you praying to
So I sit, eye in the pyramid
God spit it like it's serum in that beer and then
Disappear again, reappear
On top of a lear, steering it into the kids' ear
of the backdrop music
For the crack rock and the mascot, Earl
than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop
Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the
Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder
Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt off the grill and shit
of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, I pillage shit

'87 top, Bronson
Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw
(Brutus in booth, double scoop, hock vomit up)
(Sub rocking, thud niggas teeth loose)
Bruh, I don't fuck 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, cause nothing, bitch

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

Like it's nothing, cause nothing, bitch