Luyện nghe bài hát Must Be Bobby

Bo-bby, Bo-bby,

Bo-bby, Bo-bby,
Bo-bby, Bo-bby, Bo-bby,

Yo,
Yo, yo, RZA
Yo, yo, RZA
B-Bobby, yo

Hit the bodega for a 40 ounce son, Garcia
Two bags of chips, and one pack of Now and
Flame tucked down to my nuts, on my last
Only thing a nigga calm is a good fuck
cigarettes be dipped in wet
Chicken of the get trapped inside my net
With their clothes off, son the gun goes off
I'm bound to Napoleon, and blow a nose off

Your Sphinx, your stumble rap style, your off
Like Kunta, tryin' to run with his chopped off
Unchallenged I yield the storm rider
Clip full of ruffled-tip fast-actin' long
Four hundred grain cartridge, with steel
who can't draw the crowd is still tracin'
The mic is to the floor and shapeshifted
Heavy as the hammer of you can't lift it

So tense, bitch there's no
This four-four inch'll make you jump the
Right eye I speak brok-len English
Stumble off the cold of old English Wu brew
Two-two inside the
No describin' what this heat, in my could do
I teach, seeds to read, never for the weed indeed
Bow down to the great Bob Digi

Yo, it must be
Oh, no, it be Bobby
Oh, no, it be Bobby
Oh, no, it be

I keep rice soaked in coconut milk mixed Tofu
Sit in the sun six hours I charge up like Goku
Dragonball Z, imagine raggin' me
That's like walkin' through a hood flaggin' a C
Not, tryin' to tell you how weight we carry
It may get, snake in the tri-state buried
Plus, Feds had one add, sayin' I gun
I sold twenty million records bitch, laugh

Fresh shafts of morning dew on Nancy
Sherlock Holmes crime sleuth figure the Wu
You loaf of head, keep a sober head
One point five million years my

Yo, yo, it be Bobby
Yo, yo, it be Bobby
Oh, no, it be Bobby
Yo, check, yo

I keep MC's keep my dogs in the muzzle
Ice cold forty ounce 'em down with one guzzle
Son might a word at a bird, see if she chirp back
Tall chocolate buttercup, off the meat rack
A scratch the yard for worms
And walk around with their heads in the perm
I be knowledge keepin' my third eye polished
Never, chase for dollars to fulfill the wallet

You must be Bellevue son I walk twelve jewels
Afford anything world could sell you
Beats that the change the style'll ya
BZA-Bobby! I'm you like Beatlemania

Yo, it be Bobby
Oh, no, it must be
Yo, son, it be Bobby
BZA-buh, BZA-wha',

Fuckin' up the mic is my hobby
F-fuckin' up the mic is still my
Yo, yo, it be
Yeah