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, Vega
Two bags of chips, and one of Now and Laters
tucked down to my nuts, on my last buck
Only thing keep a nigga calm is a fuck
Loose-leaf be dipped in wet
Chicken of the get trapped inside my net
With clothes off, son when the gun goes off
I'm bound to Napoleon, and blow a nose off

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

So tense, bitch no defense
This inch'll make you jump the fence
Right eye squinted; I brok-len English
Stumble off the four-oh of old English Wu brew
Two-two the shoe
No what this heat, in my jacket could do
I teach, seeds to read, never for the weed indeed
Bow down to the Bob Digi Digi

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

I keep soaked in coconut milk mixed with Tofu
Sit in the sun six hours I charge up like Goku
Dragonball Z, imagine raggin' me
That's like through a Blood hood flaggin' a C
Not, tryin' to tell you how much weight we
It may get, every snake in the buried
Plus, Feds had one add, I gun traffed
I sold twenty million records bitch, some

Fresh shafts of morning dew on Nancy
Sherlock Holmes crime sleuth couldn't the Wu
You loaf of bread head, a sober head
One five million years my overhead

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

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

You must be Bellevue son I with twelve jewels
Afford this world could sell you
that the change the style'll rearrange 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