Luyện nghe bài hát It's On, On Sight

(*Screeching tires, gunshots, broken glass, and screaming*)
(3x)

They want problems; them want me waxed, contracts on my ass
It's from the pen, they say I owe 'em cash
off the past and they need it fast
But what they fai'lize is I'll be quick to
Die hard cold blooded killer all about my
up like a female in a mini-skirt
Specialize in doin - shootin niggaz in the shirt
Put the pistol in his mouth and it hurt, ooh
Cutlass, guzzlin down a 40-ounce of Swiss malt liquor brewsky
talkin to a cutie standin outside the movie
sittin on top of the of my Cutlass
Smokin on a non-filter pink pack colored cigarette
Clove-family affiliated cancer stick lookin beadie
What the fuck? W here's the treaty?
Full of my Wheaties, yes indeedy, M-16's don't no beebees
Programmed to amputate anything gets off in my way
Then I put them same left over bullets up in my A.K.
I wait 'til we bump heads

It on, on day and night no matter what I'm dumpin'
I'm tryin to see you niggas 'bout (2x)

"I'm heated, them cheated" - 3X (in background)
We had a meetin', shit 'posed to squashed (3x)

Shit was to been squashed

I've got a hunch; meet me at the Garden spot let's do lunch
Fool and dem to pass the buck and set us up for lumps
Sons of bitches think we some chumps
Time to break out the pipe bombs and the

Nigga fuck stress and pull lick, we kick in the door full clips
Out of Magnums when we blast 'em we all out for the chips
FOol, never slip, saw the niggaz quick and then dipped
we spark the pipe bombs, and blow them niggaz shit to
side-ways up off block, poppin gears in a big block
All out non stop riders until our casket
We smashin, on any, while I remember many
and blastin double two-three's, fuck the enemies

One of my big dudes up out HPA shot me a kite
He up in Bay three striker
Doin 25 with a L cause he tell on one of his
high-ranked in position who wears a diaper
With the shit on the side of his waist
blood splattered all on the wiper
Somebody to take his face - caught him up in his Viper
Loose as a ass out tried to down him like a sniper
hyperventilated started havin'
No feelings in his legs, arms, or his

We tall, like Manute Bol with bigger balls than RuPaul
Strapped 4-4's down to execute all y'all
Don't want to see us on a mission
150 round drum 45 bitten
No hit by the hardcore fo' sho'
Leave him stuck in his seat
70 rounds through his front
Ain't no fuckin' G's
Fill 'em up to they neck from knees
Leave 'em dyin' in the street as we escape on they