Luyện nghe bài hát Kick In The Door

Your reign on the top was short like
As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and
Get in that ass, quick fast, ramadan
Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck
You got ta, call me, Francis M.H.
In totes, tote iron
Was told in shootouts, stay low, and keep
Keep extra clips for shit
Who's next to flip, on that cat that grip on rap
The mo shady, "Tell em!", Frankie
Ain't no telling I may be
May see me in D.C. at Howard
my man Capone, dumbing, fucking something
You know my steelo
from ten G's for blow to thirty G's a show
To orgies with hoes I seen before
So, Jesus, get off the
Penis, before I and bust
If the beef between us, we can it
the chrome and metal shit
I make it hot, like a get
delicate, you better get, who sent ya?
You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great
Biggie, "How are you do it?"

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

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

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

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

On ya mark, get set, I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get, when ya with 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 bird shit
You herbs get, stuck quickly for and show 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, but dicks
to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
Mad I smoke rock diamonds, that's sick
Got pay off my flow, rhyme my own click
Take trips to Cairo, laying yo bitch
I know you praying you was rich, fucking
When I see ya

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

Kick in the door, waving the
All you heard was don't 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

This out for those that choose to use
views on the King of NY
Fuck that, why try, bleach in your eye
Now ya Braille in it, that light shit, or scalin it
Conscience of ya nonsense in
more powder than Johnson and Johnson
Tote steel Bronson, vigilante
You want to get on son, you to ask me
Ain't no other king in this rap
siblings, nothing but my children
One shot, disappearing
Its ill when, MC's to be on cruddy shit
home, Ready to Die, listened, studied shit
Now they on some money shit, out the blue
light weight, fragilly, my nine milly
Make the white shake, that's why my money funny
And you recouping, stupid