Luyện nghe bài hát Hive

Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick
buck, maybe a gold chain
With that fucking that 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 and interns admitting the shit spit
It burn like six furnaces writ it
It affixed them digits, and simultaneously
"Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, he?"
One adolescent, six-nigga energy
And crawling down fax like a rich centipede
Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash
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
hoopties tryna boost raw chronic
(Brutus in that booth, scoop, hock vomit up)
(Sub rocking, knocking 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 clothing
With doors wide open)
(Dim the lights, focused)
it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch

From a city recession-hit
With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake in
Desolate testaments to stay Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde, and just stay pregnant
Breaking news: 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 dirty as the sky that you praying to
So here I sit, eye in the
God spit it like it's truth serum in that and then
again, reappear 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 fluid for the
Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you than?
Boy oh boy, I'm bad as pollo off the grill and shit
Spitter of the Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch niggas litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit

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

Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain't shit
Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled,
outfits, weapons concealed
I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is
thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is
Got 'em wishing that they gave these weapons to kids, cheers
Send chills up spines of fat after
Shows throwing out sandwiches, get it how they
Live and I for money, other words, I'm getting money
boy told me when it's time to ride, they'll send them for me
Ain't 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 them walking Death Row
First is when the best go, is what the rest do
Voice inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they you"
So it's Raging Waters
That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave 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 long as I can reach the
Heat home like Southern California Gas, police pass
Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm with the heat
Strapped up long as the chief for police
Raised the beasts are, north of the Beach
A couple streets past J, bony niggas spraying Ks
Ruger with the face, Jewish for the court case
to save you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain

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