Luyện nghe bài hát In The Trunk

on
Where at, where they at, where they at

I sold tapes every day me and B
Been since 1983
Give me ten dollars, and you straight get
A rap all about you the special request
Oakland, you I go way back
To coug nuts, fal stangs, and
homeboys put vogues on any car
With 6 by 9's smoking
Everybody got to my dopefiend beat
Whole fucked around and started smoking D
Every rap I ever made was this town
I made 7 whole albums no James Brown
And even I love his music, I just can't stand
The way used it all up and didn't pay the man
And after 2 platnum albums, you call me
Cause I don't sell records in the
Now what's funky, I say on an old hoe
I guess y'all don't know
Why some rappers can't sell no tapes
not the company's fault, the shit sounds fake
You wanna be in the trunk, the booming box
While the young bitches ride on your
You can't do it like homey, so just pass it
And stop kissing them white asses
It's like you a whole damn key
You rap so fast you keep the beat
I'm from the old school, I P-Funk
But now rap music is all that they
So I'm in my car, I play Clinton
And when I'm on the stage I pimping
And when I hear shit, I push eject
Then I throw it out the window with the
And when the hard rappers go soft
I like to watch when they ass off
Cause ain't worth kicking like a sucka MC
And any other rappers ever talk me
I don't stop rapping, that's all can say
And how I dogg bitches, day
But if you be a dogg, then you're weak
You be phony like a side show
Some try to come off positive
Where I'm from just ain't how it is
They say rap music is here to
But the MC's don't think that way
It 8 long years before I got my break
So I wonder why make fake ass tapes
You get paid like I did, so give up punk
And while in the studio, I'm in the trunk
You got no choice, so don't flip coin
This ain't the military, so you can't join
It ain't pop, called underground rap
From Oakland California and the shit sounds
I'm spitting raps to my motherfucking
That's why they listen to the one and
I to be broke, but now we all used to be
Got no game for a bitch, all the is for me
And these bitches, say shit to me
They could never fuck with Short baby
I'm not a tounge twisting rapper with a funny
Don't dress hip hop and dance real
But I do sell records a motherfucker
Even though you I'm just another sucka
I find the beat and then never
Grab the microphone and call you a bitch
You want rent money, I got money
One thing's for sure, I give it to a hoe
I throw a bitch in the god trunk
And start slamming that Oakland
Short Dogg's in the house, again
Trying to fade the platnum, Shorty the Pimp
And when I do, I'm straight to the bank
some money and buy some dank
You can't to my motherfucking homies
That's why they listen to the one and
I up on the funk called P
But motherfuckers growing up on me
And if I ego trip, and my head is
I my ass back, to where I grew up
And get real boy, it's too late
Before I do like you and a weak ass tape
I'm in the

In the trunk, in, in the
In the trunk, in, in the
In the beating down the block

In the trunk, in, in the
In the trunk, in, in the
In the beating down the block