Luyện nghe bài hát Ice Cream

Young Money, syrup in the big
Time to do the thing, that's word to your wrist
the Glock til it burn, til my wrist lock
Rims big, tires skinny like Chris Rock
Hold the gun like O-Dog
a nigga in his face, knock his nose off
Make the girls say my like roll call
killers got a nigga about to doze off
Big shit, nigga big shit, nigga
Big bread: bread like a picnic
Shake the whole game the hit-stick nigga
Money spread like 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 Phelps my nigga
I'm higher the motherfucking Alps my nigga
I'm flyer 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 your back when in the front
You ain't never safe, stop playing with a
Bring it to his and he ran like a flanker
Bend the over, put her hands on her ankles
I'm all over this ice cream like sprinkles
"Why thank you", if you's a
I'm eating, you's a
Pistol on my hip: Tomb
Holla at guala, zoom later
Young Tune nigga, nigga
And if you think you're sweet, buy a nigga
nigga
I'm on my shit
She give me brain like she studied at Cambridge
Lighting up a motherfucking
Stupid swag like a motherfucking runt
And I be with my dog like a motherfucker
day of the week is the first of the month
Audemars Piguet with the diamonds in the
Can't tell the time cause the in the face
We can get it popping like a automatic
And if you got beef I put the on a patty
Rockstar tatted, big-money
Running this shit, now I'm feeling
I'm on a boat bitch, sea sick
playing, I'm fresher then a degree stick
Street shit, well, of course I mad weed
I'm on my high-horse, don't shoot me down, I land feet flat
Then walk a million with New Orleans on my back
Ha, I need a
And when it to hoes, man, I got a collage
on the button, nigga just stuntin'
If you ain't the teller, don't tell me nothin'
Kush so strong you can smell me
Bitch, I go like the boy from "300"
You think you kick it, boy we puntin'
Young Money baby we the shit weak
No Ceilings