Luyện nghe bài hát Hive

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

'87 top, Bronson
Whipping hoopties boost raw chronic
(Brutus in booth, double scoop, hock vomit up)
(Sub rocking, thud knocking teeth loose)
Bruh, I don't with no cop
(Rolling that flow swamp)
Catch me 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

From a that's recession-hit
With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake in
testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish
But niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay pregnant
Breaking news: death's important when the Lakers lose
There's in that baby food, heads try to make it through
legs for them eyes that she cater to
Ride dirty as the fucking sky you praying to
So I sit, eye in the pyramid
God spit it like it's serum in that beer and then
Disappear again, bearded
On top of a lear, it into the kids' ear again
Provider of the music
For the crack rock and the mascot, Earl
Rawer the skinned knee 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
of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I shit

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

Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas about shit
Come around, we gun 'em down, piled, Auschwitz
Bulletproof outfits, concealed
I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my is real
Selling thizz, couldn't tell him what the is
Got 'em wishing that they gave these weapons to kids, cheers
chills up spines of fat bitches after
Shows out sandwiches, niggas get it how they
and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money
Little boy told me it's time to ride, they'll send them for me
Ain't nobody scaring me, ain't prepared for heat
Tools hit pool sticks, the way I cue shit
If was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless
Nine-four, would've had them walking down Row
First is when the best go, is what the rest do
Voice inside my told me, "Wet 'em if they test you"
So it's Raging Waters
That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your seedless
Everybody until it's only God they seeing
Kittens 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 Southern California Gas, police pass
Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm with the drawn
up long as the chief for police armed
Raised the beasts are, north of the Beach
A couple streets past Baby J, niggas spraying Ks
Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court
Here to you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain

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