Luyện nghe bài hát House of Flying Daggers

He he he he, nobody is going to you now

Soldiers in the front, let the heat
on the left, fight to the death
Fam on the right, infrared
Wolves in the back, to attack
Soldiers in the front, let the pump

I pop off a mobster boss
Angel hair with the lobster sauce, summertime top the scorch
my hot broad, I dropped the Porsche
F-B-I wanna the force, trying to lock my source
Where I'm from, hear the macs, techs, and fours
Hide the safe, nigga, the doors
No for the cops and laws
In the land where own blood brother still plot for yours
Seen that'll drop your jaw
My soldiers got dropped in war, see the mural on the project
Won't stop til I them all
Wanna block me? You to brawl, tray shots and all
Cause I on the clock for talk
The Rusher, blow down the spot for sure
Still break off the block with raw, my stock is
The General, watch your

Deep with the eight on me, sleep with the safe in the wall
The on with the make-up and all
Swap six 45's, twist reefer in the flicks, papi ride
Bolt his gun off, know your horse, she lied
Fly criteria, bury me in
With whips and spears, and diamonds out of Syria
A true don, only I could do
Rock fitted hats, get crack money and drive a sick blue
Retard-less, I'mma regardless
Resume is straight up live, I niggas up for larger E's
And speak the youth in the spot, eat the fresh fruit in the crop
All hip hoppers eat cock
You can see me in the street or the
I'd rather be promoting your block or buying fresh sneakers gwops
Yo, I'm an ill dude, always a real dude
fuck around, I will spill on you and kill you in the field, boo

Soldiers in the front, let the pump
Troops on the left, to the death
Fam on the right, infrared
Wolves in the back, to attack, for what

in the front, let the heat pump
Troops on the left, to the death
Fam on the right, lights
in the back, ready to attack, for what

Leather jackets on, up rock stars
Treacherous robbers, the plan gold up, we pop guards
The gotta eat, seeds is hungry, that's why we ain't scared
To on niggas, our guns is chunky
Usually we bust niggas down with bats, swell up joints
Elbow, wrists, they get cracked
We still humiliate, brutalize, pop, pulverize
Still got gear in the closet, stupid live
Benetton rugby skullies, Oshkosh conductor jumpers
The train fit me lovely
Rae job is to make sure the is fluffy
While I his birthday bash with Puffy
Bagged Nia soon as I linked up, the kid ain't up
I'm an old mummy, my gold as much as King Tut (yeah, yeah)
Slippers, robes is minked up, the doo-rag, bro (uh, yo, yo)
My dimensional fade is clean cut

Man, ya ain't shit to us, still a pistol bust
Split your like I split the Dutch
Got a lot of piff to puff, and I come for fisticuffs
Or for the cop that wanna the cuffs
Man, is Staten in this or what, don't get it twisted, we
Twist it up and mixed with dust
See these fans can't the rush, they Wu-Tang for life
Scarred for life, they can't forget the
Got a whole of classic joints, and while you at it
Pass the joint, push this music past the point
Of no return, til they crash and burn, the ashes
Then inside Ol' Dirty Bastard's urn
When it's my time to go, for sure, ya nigga to war
What you think I brought soldiers for?
To shot like forget me not, at any nigga
Respect, bitch, that figure they get me got

He he, your kung fu is no good
You can't fast enough
And you don't enough strength
And your body movements are like a string
It's too for me to trip you up

He he he, how's it feel,
It's no fair, I'm afraid my back is
Ha ha ha, you got a lot to learn