Luyện nghe bài hát I Shot Ya

Blaze this one, up!
I'ma blaze one
No doubt! uh, check it, check it, it!
uh, uh, check it, it, check it!
I'm Uncle L, it, check it, check it!
The Trackmasters, check it, check it, it!
Now everybody now, check it, check it, it!
All my niggas now, check it, check it, it!
Yeah, we 'bout to serve one off nice, why'nah mean?
Word up, it!

I ya!
I'm brothers open like a doctor
Ya asleep, the vampire teeth got'cha
I ya down in boilin' acid
Ya melt plastic, elastic, is drastic
Violations, vibrations, son
the hammer let the Uncle give 'em one
Done take a of a wicked lunatic
puttin' hits on your clique, wife in turnin' tricks
What? You don't to, I thought that you was bawlin'
Now watch I cock ya love, ya girlies fallin'
Uh, what's my Lyrical injection
Blazin' niggas, 'em raw with no protection
I advantage
Ya fear me, I'm damage
Ya me
The whole is dreary
is gettin' wet up in the game
I meet you up in Memphis, just call my
I ya!

x2]
Ya to (uh)
Ya to (uh)
Ya want to hit, me a hour (uh)
Plus a pen and a pad (uh, check it, check it, it!)
I ya!

I ya! (uh)
I got ya strap to the
Trapped in a cagin, toe kissin' a
Ya mob's locked down the surface
Ya gettin' nervous for talkin' shit with no
Laced up, charmer, mad drama
What goes comes around, not around farmers
Silence, sh, deadly
and battle, let me add you to my medley
Possessin' power, takin' everything I can
Go get it now, why you always dwellin' on the
Baby boys reminiscin' old school
fools get dicked, LL rules the shit
With a platinum fist, the relentless
I take you to a land where like to kiss
Massacre, mmuh, blowin' up the bus passengers
Chuckin' the color outta character
Ya get
Real niggas what my theory is
I ya!

I ya!
Word up, I'ma lace this shit crazy, why'nah
Word up, gonna blow the spot up, kid
No doubt it
Yeah, yeah, I through, I ain't through, I ain't through

Uh-uh-uh-oh, kinda leery
Ya clique thought I fell off, they didn't to hear me
Oh really, now tell me how long you been whinin'
years, twenty million albums, yeah you're climbin'
I love your joint The Bells', it was mad hot
Ya record 'bout the Radio was up my spot
My girl was on your chip when you 'I Need Love'
backseat count set was mad butter, son
I loved boomin' system it was wicked as could be
You bad, now I'm writin' on your cookies
And you had me screamin' 'Mama Knock Ya Out'
Ya jinglin', baby, no
Uh, talk to me (what, what, uh, uh) become a zombie, to me
Ain't a MC who fought with me
Why'nah mean? Man, it
Easy it
I gotta pluck it buzzards
I ya!

x3]

What, what, what, what,
Uh,
mean? This is how we gettin' down for crizzown
No diggity, why'know I'm
Trackmasters me, why'know I'm sayin'
And I take care of mines, why'know I
it son!
Peace!