Luyện nghe bài hát Kick In The Door

Your reign on the top was short like
As I crush willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
Get in that ass, quick fast, ramadan
Its rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck Poppa
You got ta, call me, Francis M.H.
In tank-light totes, iron
Was told in shootouts, low, and keep firin
extra clips for extra shit
Who's to flip, on that cat with that grip on rap
The mo shady, "Tell em!", baby
Ain't no telling I may be
May see me in D.C. at Homecoming
With my man Capone, dumbing, something
You should know my
Went ten G's for blow to thirty G's a show
To orgies with I never seen before
So, Jesus, get off the
Penis, I squeeze and bust
If the beef between us, we can it
With the chrome and shit
I make it hot, a kettle get
You're delicate, you get, who sent ya?
You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Adventure
Biggie, "How are you do it?"

in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa hit me no more

Kick in the door, waving the
All you heard was Poppa hit me no more

Kick in the door, the four-four
All you was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, the four-four
All you was Poppa don't hit me no more

On ya mark, get set, I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get, when ya marked death
I start your breath should I let you die
In you start to cry, ask why
Lyrically, I'm worser, don't front the word
You it, but rehearsed it
I drop unexpectedly like shit
You herbs get, stuck quickly for royalties and money
Don't forget the publishing, I punish em, I'm done them
Son, I'm you run with them
I think they got cum in them, cause they, nothing but
Trying to blow up like nitro and dynamite
Mad I smoke hydro rock diamonds, sick
Got pay off my flow, rhyme with my own
Take trips to Cairo, laying with yo
I know you you was rich, fucking prick
I see ya I'ma

Kick in the door, the four-four
All you heard was Poppa hit me no more

Kick in the door, the four-four
All you was Poppa don't hit me no more

Kick in the door, waving the
All you heard was Poppa hit me no more

in the door, waving the four-four
All you was Poppa don't hit me no more

goes out for those that choose to use
Disrespectful on the King of NY
Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in eye
Now ya Braille in it, stash light shit, or scalin it
of ya nonsense in eighty-eight
Sold more powder than and Johnson
Tote like Bronson, vigilante
You want to get on son, you to ask me
Ain't no other king in rap thing
siblings, nothing but my children
One shot, disappearing
Its ill when, MC's to be on cruddy shit
Took home, to Die, listened, studied shit
Now they on money shit, successful out the blue
They light weight, fragilly, my nine
Make the white shake, why my money never funny
And you still recouping,