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 buck
Only thing a nigga calm is a good fuck
Loose-leaf cigarettes be in wet
Chicken of the get trapped inside my net
With their clothes off, son the gun goes off
I'm bound to play Napoleon, and a nose off

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

So tense, there's no defense
This inch'll make you jump the fence
eye squinted; I speak brok-len English
Stumble off the cold four-oh of old English Wu
Two-two inside the
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 then I charge up like Goku
Dragonball Z, you're raggin' me
That's like through a Blood hood flaggin' a C
Not, to tell you how much weight we carry
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 Drew
Sherlock Holmes crime sleuth couldn't the Wu
You loaf of head, keep a sober head
One point five million my overhead

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

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

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

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

Fuckin' up the mic is still my
up the mic is still my hobby
Yo, yo, it be
yeah