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 son, Garcia Vega
Two bags of chips, and one of Now and Laters
Flame down to my nuts, on my last buck
Only thing keep a calm is a good fuck
Loose-leaf cigarettes be in wet
Chicken of the seas get trapped my net
With their clothes off, son the gun goes off
I'm to play Napoleon, and blow a nose off

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

So tense, bitch no defense
This four-four inch'll you jump the fence
Right eye squinted; I brok-len English
Stumble off the four-oh of old English Wu brew
Two-two inside the
No describin' this heat, in my jacket could do
I teach, seeds to read, reach 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 rice in coconut milk mixed with Tofu
Sit in the sun six hours then I charge up like
Dragonball Z, imagine raggin' me
That's like walkin' through a Blood flaggin' a C
Not, tryin' to tell you how weight we carry
It may get, every in the tri-state buried
Plus, had one add, sayin' I gun traffed
I sold twenty records bitch, some laugh

Fresh of morning dew on Nancy Drew
Holmes crime sleuth couldn't figure the Wu
You loaf of bread head, keep a head
One point five years my overhead

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

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

You must be Bellevue son I walk twelve jewels
Afford this world could sell you
Beats that the change the rearrange ya
BZA-Bobby! I'm strikin' you Beatlemania

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

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