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 Mighty Ha Mo' at the bar
Bakee after bakee, after blunt
Smoke a bag of buhdah and became bitche's with the
Nat King Cole was a old soul
Made you move that ab, drop shit from your
Grab a budjock and shot from the glock
You were told to swing off a from a jump
Run up in attics and Elvis, now I'm
on the streets in the heart of P Long
Man oh man lick if I have to
Submit to me as lord and master
It's the Ha, I'm a street Bronx, I
Deliver the real Walter Chronkite
God I'm a destiny, man
in the rain receive the backhand

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

Be a none known and the Y, O, G
Make your moon walk, walk grab your ti ty
Hit you in the head the broom to the back
Sport a pair of Balley's and a Ha hat
Comin from the Bronx KRS One
Electrify the crowd like shooting stone guns
Blunt Cru, Violator, Def Jam
Known for lyrics and smackin mad hands
Ahh, don't a uh
for the cause 17 to the shot
It's the Mighty Ha with the mic and the
My style's buck naughty what day is it
Type of situation from uptown
You can lick cause I front to be down
Til I lie rep a dollar the Willies to the Hiedy
Rhythem Blunt Cru, Baby Chris

Ponies ran before
Rain fell
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 with the and a misdemeanor
Hit a hundred and I got the spray Alenor
Got mad buttocks, ass cheeks, yo
Got more charges than a pac
I'm the maker, owner, of the crop
you erection to the top
I can't seem to get rid of these chickenheads
Word to the mother dead brest fed
You better duck down I draw my 8 luger
Scoop that ass quickie, skin bag of booty

What goes on ya