Luyện nghe bài hát Ill Figures

When I write my lyrics, it's like, it's like I want my to be phat
I people to be able to understand
Yo, can rhyme, you know what I'm saying
But it's what you saying that a person know about you

Know I'm saying, you know the type of person you is
So it's really I'm just more of just
Being a street narrator, aiyo, what up,

Reefer lit, love hip hop, the gangstas got me like the
Brooklyn baby cooling at a meet
Real niggas meet me, ladies wanna eat me
Money clean Mercedes claim, baby me

Love dressed up, sweats and techs
Ride around the hood, good, getting Gotti
is golden, an OG rolling and holding, yo
Fresh kicks, soft leather, pockets is

Let my jam hit your deck, it's straight up and made up
For every real nigga his gun on him, hate up
Flying through the city nights, new
Blue ice, hundred thousand in a Nike bag,

shop, I'm sorry, Atari in the Ferrari
Next see the Lex A Shallah, La
Eating yo, all of us, gangstas
You we honor, tip the kangol, cooling in the brown vengos

I never, giving up on a mission
That's against my

Duke, let me warn you, my crip up
Them young boys'll run up on you, shoot your up
Brooklyn, nigga, beg for you life and my Staten homeys
Lay ass down on 'Glaciers of Ice'

Sidewalk executives, live the street consecutive
We for this, go for your gun
My prospective is, another day in the life, of and drugs
Big and slugs can get ugly as fuck

From the to your man Danze
Staten Island, what up, yo
The homey ODB what up, though
We got the Chef on deck as if you didn't

It's sharp as fuck, Wu, what up
Pack it up, rap, wanna rock, what up?
Wanna pop, get up, fuck around and get your hit up
Bring your team and we'll box 'em up, think MOP is not up

It I'm a bit late here
worry, these men are all gonna die

See from the side where it at, dum at, rum at
Cognac, combat, contact,
Crom's packing out like back
She bang out a like the Fonz back

things, bring the slangs, slicker than the sharpest pen
Nigga here, combat, sweet dick T, Rudy Ray Moore game
Woodgrain all in the board reigns, rain flooded
Like storm drains, man, bundling raw 'caine

Fours bang, neighborhood war
Get weight up, you looking anorexic
on the block proper with the hammer vested
Bitch came with empty hands, that's the hand she left

Thirsty ass with the and it sounded desperate
a white an hour, based it forty grand invested
Live the third rail, you know the man electric
Shit was like the third world until I handle metrics, that shit