Luyện nghe bài hát Hive

Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my sucked
buck, maybe a gold chain
With that fucking flow s-s-so belittles men
They tentatively tend to and go when I am finished
cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen
The description doesn't fit, if not a synonym of menace, forget it
In turn, these critics and interns admitting the spit
It just like six furnaces writ it
It affixed learning digits, and simultaneously
"Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, he?"
One adolescent, fucking energy
And crawling down fax like a 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, poppin' your off
Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt,
(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 fuck with no cop
(Rolling with flow swamp)
me over stove top
(Rapping to that rock)
(Passionless in old clothing
With them doors open)
(Dim the lights, focused)
Like it's nothing, cause nothing, bitch

From a city recession-hit
With stress niggas flex metal with, peddle to rake pennies in
testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde, and just stay pregnant
Breaking news: death's less important when the Lakers
There's lead in that baby food, heads try to 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 it's truth serum in that beer and then
Disappear again, bearded
On top of a lear, steering it into the ear again
Provider of the music
For the crack user and the mascot, Earl
than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop
Salivary glands, lighter for the matchbox
Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you than?
Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt off the grill and shit
of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit

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

Quit with all that talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain't about shit
Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled,
outfits, weapons concealed
I'm to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real
thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is
Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids,
Send chills up spines of fat bitches
throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they
Live and I live for money, words, I'm getting money
Little boy told me when it's time to ride, they'll them for me
Ain't nobody scaring me, niggas ain't prepared for
Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue
If this was '88, I have signed to Ruthless
Nine-four, had them walking down Death Row
First is when the best go, is what the rest do
Voice my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you"
So it's Raging Waters
That yomper big as Larry Johnson, your momma seedless
Everybody hard until it's only God 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 as I can reach the chrome
Heat your home like Southern California Gas, pass
Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm with the heat
Strapped up long as the for police armed
Raised where the beasts are, of the Beach
A couple past Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks
Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the case
Here to you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain

Like nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch