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 pack of Now and
Flame down to my nuts, on my last buck
Only thing keep a calm is a good fuck
Loose-leaf be dipped in wet
Chicken of the seas get trapped 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, flow's off
Like Kunta, tryin' to run with his toes off
sword I yield the storm rider
Clip full of ruffled-tip long fire
hundred grain cartridge, with steel casin'
Those who can't draw the crowd is tracin'
The mic is cast to the and shapeshifted
as the hammer of Thor you can't lift it

So tense, there's no defense
This four-four inch'll make you jump the
Right eye squinted; I speak brok-len
Stumble off the cold four-oh of old English Wu
inside 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 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 with Tofu
Sit in the sun six hours then I charge up like
Dragonball Z, imagine raggin' me
That's like walkin' through a hood flaggin' a C
Not, tryin' to tell you how much weight we
It may get, snake in the tri-state buried
Plus, Feds had one add, sayin' I gun
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 million my overhead

Yo, yo, it must be
Yo, yo, it must be
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 spit a word at a bird, see if she chirp
Tall chocolate deluxe buttercup, off the rack
A scratch the yard for worms
And roosters walk around with heads in the perm
I be spreadin' knowledge keepin' my eye polished
Never, chase for to fulfill the black wallet

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

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

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