Luyện nghe bài hát It's Over

What, Silky Don
That Strick, Royce the 5'9''
Rock-A-Block all day, yo yo yo
I'm the to show up to the studio
Write that shit, spit it, hit it, ya'll askin "Who dat?"
I'm the next nigga to boom, I assumed already knew that
Hip hop's new cat, lay your crew flat
Have your label faxin my label askin "Why have to do that?"
It's a fact, when you rap, the crowd boo that
And more than a few cats agree you shouldn't do rap
What you recorded, that, buy a new DAT
Your girl's a true rat, so when I fucked her I wore two
So back you little newjack
'Fore you around and do some shit that get not only you
But whole crew whacked
Too and I'm too black
And pack not one but two
And aim em at you black, true dat

The that'll never retire
Devilish, the red in my eye
Judge the instead of my size
Ahead of my time, the second coming of a legend in
That'll shine I die
We never lie, you'll get by
I got love, I used to roll wit big shot thugs to hip hop clubs
You act up, the fifth got hugged and
Pits got dugged and filled back up wit wrapped up in plastic
Give me a heater, you givin me a reason to
You givin me the key to your
Midwest, not the middle, Strick the five
Wavin the tec out the window, touchin the tire
Shit is

Shit is over, shit is
The is over, the shit is over
'cause ain't nobody wit us
Ain't fuckin wit us
is over, shit is over, BYE BYE
Shit is over, is over
ain't nobody fuckin wit us
Ain't nobody wit us

Aiyyo my got Ahlzeimer's, my dad's an alcoholic
So last night, I forgot to drive and hit you
lots of junk and diss you
Pop the and split you
Sick nigga, you really want it wit Strick, nigga
Freestyle or shit, take your pick, nigga
your click nigga, I'll swing a stick nigga
Wit hotter rhymes, I'm control and you outta line
I got of rhymes, and I'ma spit till you outta rhymes
The hot shit, you better off tryin to change the
I pop shit to let niggas know ya'll not shit
Hit the curb in a hot whip
You a and I'm here
And you probably the one flunked when I got skipped
rhymin and fuck wit niggas for fun
Buck at niggas wit guns, you duck from and run
So who's the nigga that you know? (Who is it?)
Now ask that who's the illest nigga that he know
bet he say me, yo
The only thing bigger my dick is my ego
I rip and over, while you stare at the chip on my shoulder
Ya'll don't want of me
Not only will I have ya'll to bust
But you won't discuss rap in front of me
The odds-on to say shit
have your crew tellin you that nigga Strick's nuttin to play wit
Save it for a day
pick the tec up, aim and spray
And permanently take your pain away,

- only first 4 lines]

What you're not in a least, above gettin shot in the street
I show up at cyphers and scatter like I'm the police
Now we got a bunch of drug-connected on records
Stripped butt-naked when they blood is tested
All ya'll niggas stink, real niggas know what a bitch like
Tell you how we tell lies, tell he wear his hair like
You can't amaze the amazing, change ways
We bodies, throw stones wit the names engraved
The games you play, make me this thing your way
My niggas rob for consistency, a a day
I'm about as humble as I can to be
A real nigga's best friend, a bitch nigga's enemy
It hurt, it offends me
The chrome in a frenzy
It's gon' work till it's
Just sure that my gun shoots fastin than yours
And I'm you, and my bullets is chasin yours

Yeah, Big Strick, the 5'9''
Tommy Boy Rock-A-Block
Don