Luyện nghe bài hát Mr. Fuck Up

* (NOT Cash Money -- MC brother)

My niggaz call me Grinch and yes I'm to be a fuck up
Loaded clip, folded sticks, my lifts and cuffed up
Put my stick so nigga feel my with the dollar
'Cause they rock the stock in a private prison parlor
Grinch you did it, black ass really did it
Give Bone the microphone and let him it
Give Bone the microphone and me beat you like a cop
Lil' G from the hall so the won't stop
And plus I'm packin' punches always keep a good
My homies call me Bone from the Whole Damn
I live like a and keep the bitches on my dick
You sorry sap sips still on my shit
Compton is the heart and that's where we all
The goin' on in the hood and in the slum
And don't be caught slippin' we dippin' the 4
Ren'll grab his nine and watch him smoke 'em from the door
And then we make a dash and put ass in the air
True checkin' done by the true player
I'm headed to the cut straight chronic in my pock
make 'em kill 'em 'cause I'm servin' 'em spot
And that's how it's done I it flowin' like a sailor
My beats are large my feats are star, some me Chuck Taylor
I call the Juvy 'cause I know we gotta Coupe
Don't worry 'bout a damn we got the end, we gettin'

Then call me Mr. Dopeman when I'm chillin' in the
My niggaz call me Bishop when I'm with my glock
The crackers me bandit when I'm runnin' from the cops
And the call me daddy when I'm tearin' up the cock
Yo the title's Mr. Fuck up so I figure I'm fucked
Got no luck, shit, gotta go and a quick buck
Boom boom, is the of my cannon
I'm a nigga with a motherfuckin' gun master plannin'
I'm a crazy ass nigga motherfuckers fall
A nigga from the streets hangin' in the fuckin'
I where we smoke bud and niggaz get bent
And when it to music put on MC Ren shit
Now everybody chillin' and the bitches gettin'
Took a to the room now she gots ta lick me
Lickin' out my ass hole like a fuckin'
I'm through now I cleans up and call my nigga
downstairs my niggaz hand me a 4-O
Smokin' the extension you it's the indo
Now I'm feelin' like I'm sittin' on a cloud
The dust that we kick I guess we live our foul
Beware of the nigga that they call
The party's goin' but I still got my glock
I'm for the bad apples in every bunch
And if it's necessary motherfucker we can
Or get a pump, put a hole in your chest
Slugs straight through a bullet proof vest
Matters gettin' worse if I have to the dogs
ya in your face yellin' till ya hit the hall
So smalls, get your fuckin' 9 and your
And let these know what's up on the Whole Click