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 meaning gone

Hum do a lah, that means, up, Shah?
It's the Mighty Ha Mo' at the bar
Bakee bakee, blunt after blunt
Smoke a bag of buhdah and became bitche's the skunk
Nat King Cole was a merry old
Made you move that ab, drop shit your whole
Grab a budjock and shot 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 lord and master
It's the 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 me Wanda, help, help, me Wanda

Be a none beast 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 the Bronx like KRS One
Electrify the crowd like they shooting stone
Rhythem Cru, Violator, Def Jam
for tricken lyrics 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 buck naughty day is it ack?
Type of situation from uptown
You can lick balls I front to be down
Til I lie rep a kickin the Willies to the Hiedy
Blunt Cru, Baby Chris Lighty

Ponies ran before
never fell
Til I met you
And I can't get enough of your love,

What!?
Chim, chim, chiminie chim, chim,
from the top, ah, it's the Migh ty
Hit you with the and a misdemeanor
Hit a hundred push-ups and I got the Alenor
Got mad buttocks, ass cheeks, yo
Got more than a Nicachew pac
I'm the maker, owner, of the crop
you erection to the top
I seem to get rid of these fuckin chickenheads
Word to the mother dead brest fed
You better down when I draw my 8 luger
Scoop that ass quickie, better skin bag of

What goes on ya