Luyện nghe bài hát Hive

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

'87 roof top,
Whipping tryna boost raw chronic
(Brutus in that booth, double scoop, vomit up)
(Sub rocking, knocking niggas teeth loose)
Bruh, I fuck 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 nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch

From a city that's
With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake in
Desolate testaments trying to Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde, and just stay pregnant
Breaking news: death's less when the Lakers lose
There's lead in that baby food, heads try to it through
Fish-netted legs for them that she cater to
Ride dirty as the fucking sky you praying to
So here I sit, eye in the
God spit it like it's truth serum in beer and then
again, reappear bearded
On top of a lear, it into the kids' ear again
Provider of the 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 than?
Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the and shit
Spitter of the Little Nick, nimble,
Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I shit

'87 top, Bronson
Whipping hoopties boost raw chronic
(Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock up)
(Sub rocking, knocking niggas teeth loose)
Bruh, I don't with no cop
(Rolling with flow swamp)
Catch me stove top
(Rapping to coke rock)
(Passionless in old Jive
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
outfits, weapons concealed
I'm ready to kill, so 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 of fat bitches after
throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they
Live and I 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, niggas ain't prepared for
hit like 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
is when the best go, hate is what the rest do
Voice my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you"
So it's Raging season
That yomper big as Johnson, leave your momma 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 his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the chrome
Heat your home like California Gas, police pass
'em "Free Smalls," off Palm with the heat drawn
Strapped up long as the chief for police
Raised the beasts are, north of the Beach
A couple streets past Baby J, bony spraying Ks
Ruger with the face, Jewish for the court case
Here to save you from the sorbet, Coldchain

it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch