Luyện nghe bài hát House of Flying Daggers

He he he he, nobody is to save you now

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

I pop off like a mobster
Angel hair with the lobster sauce, summertime can't top the
Check my hot broad, I dropped the
F-B-I wanna the force, trying to lock my source
I'm from, hear the macs, techs, glocks and fours
Hide the safe, nigga, the doors
No respect for the and laws
In the where your own blood brother still plot for yours
Seen things drop your jaw
My soldiers got dropped in war, see the on the project wall?
Won't til I copped them all
block me? You gots to brawl, tray shots and all
Cause I ain't on the for talk
The Spot Rusher, blow the spot for sure
Still break off the block with raw, my stock is
The General, watch your

Deep pockets with the eight on me, sleep with the safe in the
The cameras on with the and all
six 45's, twist reefer in the flicks, papi whoadie ride
Bolt his gun off, from know horse, she lied
Fly criteria, me in Africa
With whips and spears, and rough diamonds out of
A true don, only I do wrong
Rock fitted hats, get crack money and drive a sick blue
Retard-less, blow regardless
is straight up live, I shank niggas up for larger E's
And speak with the youth in the spot, eat the fruit in the crop
All these hip eat cock
You can see me in the street or the
I'd rather be promoting your block or buying fresh with gwops
Yo, I'm an ill dude, always been a dude
Don't 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, lights
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, infrared
in the back, ready to attack, for what

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

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

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

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