Luyện nghe bài hát Link Up

[Intro: Producer & Mr WOT]
Jamma
Fresh Baby
Yo, Dublin, big up yourself, you dun
Obviously, it
Crud!
Maud!

1: J.B2]
Man your mash and bop with a different sauce
And your cash, she bop with the edible, oh
lights, see po-po
I don't know what do
Baby cattin', uh,
Fishing-fishing, lost,

[Verse 2:
Fuck-fuck 'dem yutes, irrelevant
Infected, they need
On 'ting, if you're from Bellingham
One man up, way too
Slide with the broom Harry, uh
on your bae, no bally
Akhi, and yang, I been trappy
Fly lick the shots in the alley

3: J.B2 & Crowd]
Michael Jackson twist up your
again, man pattern the neek
Arsenal, bro, Welbeck, gonna run
Big man on the touched; likkle-likkle
Na, uh-uh, today can't
up my lead tongue, Skittle-Skittle
Baby 'pon me, just
Got the and skeet tryna surf on pum

4: Russ]
Michael Jack, in the crutch
Pretty face and a whole of butt
Ching him up, tryna take out your
Boom-boom, bang, got two in the
Like, bro, was you thinking?
Back it out, now the sprinting
Let 'em have it, let the pain in
Shoot, it off without blinking

5: Chuks]
I don't even wanna talk too
All these faggots we put poles in dingers
I might get DS to back his shank or get big bro to back his
They wanna see Loose in the cold, bro
Had them shook and turned sprinter
How times have we run down Adz?
Got chased with shanks, some nigga
Got caught in the lack while
How the fuck can I call this
don't want this index squeezing
Regz in the room so bitch ain't leaving
How times did they lock up bro?
I backed my shank, don't me a reason
Wait 'til shh back on ends
Cah 'til he does; I stop creeping

[Verse 6: J.B2 & Mr
that nigga?
You ain't badder us, you're shit
Kway-kway, bill up the and lit
She just loving the sex, tit
Trust me,
When I bop her
Tryna nut it in
Finna ugh, no
When I beef lick that, tryna get teddy
give chit-chat

[Verse 7:
See the taking off so rapid
Back out my shank, then back in jackets
And the over there so ratchet
Opp's gon' 'cause they come like faggots
I slept in the cells no blankets
Had to put all my stuff in
And they put all my food in
done bag all my clothes in packets
It's the life I live, where you never see man
I ain't never seen YJ so gassed; made the grub like David Blaine
It's like done put out a diss track, then got straight on the rassclaat plane
It's got my head back hurting so I gotta the Mary Jane
Huh?
I shoulda better
I put holes in numerous tops so the pigs send letters
I got 'round 'ere with a sawed-off dots, yeah say I'm a

Man J.Sav really can't dipping
Mum's to go sew sweaters
get a mans top wetter
Opps doin' up letters
I can't trust no female, you can call me
I got no feelings
So I'm out breaking hearts
I'm really tryna get target
Shank in your head I'm playing darts

Mr WOT]
Crud!