Luyện nghe bài hát Ice Cream

Young Money, syrup in the big
to do the thing, that's word to your wrist watch
Shoot the Glock til it burn, til my lock
Rims hella big, tires like Chris Rock
Hold the gun sideways O-Dog
Shoot a nigga in his face, his nose off
Make the girls say my name like call
Pain killers got a nigga to doze off
Big shit, nigga talk big shit,
Big bread: bread a picnic nigga
the whole game like the hit-stick nigga
Money like germs: get sick nigga
Yea, and fuck other niggas
1-900: who want it? I
Concrete shoes won't help in the
I don't care if you was Michael my nigga
I'm higher than the Alps my nigga
I'm than the motherfucking stealth my nigga
Young Money shit, my nigga
We the motherfuckers like MILF my
Ahem, like syringes
Yea I'm in my mode, got a like Da Vinci's
I was in the trenches, now I'm in the
And everybody watch back when you're in the front
You ain't never safe, playing with a gangsta
it to his face and he ran like a flanker
Bend the over, put her hands on her ankles
I'm all over this ice beat like sprinkles
"Why thank you", if a hater
I'm eating, a waiter
on my hip: Tomb Raider
Holla at your guala, zoom
Young nigga, typhoon nigga
And if you you're sweet, buy a room nigga
Damu
I'm on my shit
She give me good like she studied at Cambridge
up a motherfucking blunt
Stupid fruity like a motherfucking runt
And I be with my dog like a hunting
Every day of the is the first of the month
Audemars Piguet with the diamonds in the
Can't tell the cause the diamonds in the face
We can get it popping a semi automatic
And if you got I put the biscuit on a patty
tatted, big-money addict
Running this shit, now I'm feeling
I'm on a boat bitch, sea sick
Stop playing, I'm fresher then a stick
Street shit, well, of I smoke mad weed
I'm on my high-horse, please don't shoot me down, I feet flat
Then walk a million with New Orleans on my back
Ha, I need a
And when it comes to hoes, man, I got a
Finger on the button, nigga stuntin'
If you ain't the teller, don't tell me nothin'
Kush so you can smell me comin'
Bitch, I go hard the boy from "300"
You think you it, well boy we puntin'
Young baby we the shit weak stomachs
No Ceilings