Luyện nghe bài hát Lisa Lipps

Run for the cue

Lisa
Was a Stone, huh
Yeah, wherever she slap wasn't home
And now she's gone, no sun
Shine she's gone

Hum do a lah, that means, up, Shah?
It's the Ha drinkin' Mo' at the bar
Bakee bakee, blunt after blunt
Smoke a bag of buhdah and became bitche's the skunk
Nat King was a merry old soul
Made you move that ab, shit from your whole
Grab a budjock and lick from the glock
You were told to swing off a tree from a
Run up in and Elvis, now I'm gone
Back on the streets in the of P Long
Man oh man lick shots if I to
Submit to me as your and master
the Mighty Ha, I'm a street Bronx, I
Deliver the real like Walter
God I'm a destiny, man
Devil's in the rain receive the

Yesterday, my trouble so far away
So help me Wanda, help, help, me

Be a none known and the Y, O, G
Make your moon walk, spin walk your ti ty
Hit you in the head with the broom to the
Sport a pair of and a Mighty Ha hat
Comin the Bronx like KRS One
Electrify the crowd like they stone guns
Rhythem Cru, Violator, Def Jam
Known for tricken and smackin mad hands
Ahh, give a uh
for the cause 17 to the shot
It's the Ha with the mic and the glock
My style's naughty what day is it ack?
Type of situation pops from
You can lick balls I front to be down
Til I lie rep a dollar kickin the Willies to the
Rhythem Cru, Baby Chris Lighty

Ponies ran before
Rain never
Til I met you
And I get enough of your love, babe

What!?
Chim, chim, chim, chim, che-ree
Comin the top, ah, it's the Migh ty
Hit you the felony and a misdemeanor
Hit a push-ups and I got the spray Alenor
Got mad buttocks, ass cheeks, yo
Got more charges a Nicachew pac
I'm the maker, owner, cream of the
Felicha you to the top
I seem to get rid of these fuckin chickenheads
Word to the drop dead brest fed
You better down when I draw my 8 luger
Scoop that ass quickie, better skin bag of

What goes on ya