Luyện nghe bài hát Lay Low

[Verse 1 - Meek
a brand new loft, five thousand a month
Bitch my sour is special, hundred a blunt
Only smoke if it's proper, in the words of Big
his ass to the doctors, took the sacks and we shot you
Blocka-blocka-bla-blocka, warn his ass them chopper
It'll be a faggot, automatic kicking like soccer
Bottles it's popping, twenty bitches around us
I just slide her the numbers, so if she hit me I her
I canary the pinky, hit her right winky
Got the club looking cloudy, for the love of the
In a 600 Benz, a couple they friends
And we just getting started, these haters we end
Brown on these hoes, niggas fishing again
she swallow with those, drop like it on her chin
Niggas left me for dead, I'm living again
Special official, they see my vision again

[Chorus - Meek & Young Chris]
it's a party, we see the sparkles, they coming
Standing on couches, surround us, we blunting
We the globe, stop in your town, and run it
And you already know, them hoes tonight, we born to run it
Because we motherfucking hoe (Paid hoe)
And all that cream, blow that paper the haze hoe
a beach, I'm in the sun with my shades
After the we take the baddest bitch and lay low
Hey hoe (Hey hoe)
Hey hoe (Hey hoe)
After the club we get the bitch and lay low
Hey hoe (Hey hoe)
Hey hoe (Hey hoe)
After the club we take the bitch and lay low

[Verse 2 - Chris]
Maserati dipping, cost me a chicken
cost a Bentley, think I'm finna have a ticket
Got a for Ferraris, and fucking bad bitches
Smoke a nigga like I'm all we know is lot of niggas
The mine, Jordan number 9
I came in balling on these niggas like a LeBron
In front them bitches, hit on the lot
in with your main hoe, your ?
It's Chris, eat a dick, we the shit
We really you just talking about a Stephen Smith
I let my money do the talking, I just the fifth
I'm on my Metro, just me if you need a brick

[Verse 3 -
It's the makie with bacon, all these be hating
Spit facts, hella facts, got me past immigrations
To my fans, they had me stuck at the border
See the brighling, big Bent', I think bastards is rascist
Call me boy, we be off to the races
And no Smith & Wesson leave you crusain boy
We be up in the clubs, stunting two chains boy
Got it popping, niggas mad, bitches all up in our faces
Got them bottles Rosay, of Patron
All chicks take shots to the dome
Hit right trying to follow me home
to his Impala, I'm gone