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 of chips, and one pack of Now and Laters
Flame tucked down to my nuts, on my last
Only thing keep a nigga calm is a good
Loose-leaf cigarettes be in wet
Chicken of the seas get trapped my net
With their off, son when the gun goes off
I'm bound to play Napoleon, and a nose off

Your Sphinx, your stumble rap style, your off
Like Kunta, to run with his chopped toes off
sword I yield the storm rider
Clip full of ruffled-tip fast-actin' long
Four hundred cartridge, with steel casin'
Those who can't 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, there's no defense
This four-four inch'll make you 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 reach for the indeed
Bow down to the Bob Digi Digi

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

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

Fresh shafts of morning dew on Drew
Sherlock Holmes sleuth couldn't figure the Wu
You loaf of bread head, keep a sober
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 puzzled keep my dogs in the muzzle
Ice cold ounce drink 'em down with one guzzle
Son might spit a word at a bird, see if she back
Tall chocolate deluxe buttercup, off the meat
A chickenhead scratch the for worms
And roosters walk around with their heads in the
I be spreadin' keepin' my third eye polished
Never, for dollars to fulfill the black wallet

You must be Bellevue son I walk with jewels
Afford anything world could sell you
Beats that the change the 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 my hobby
F-fuckin' up the mic is still my
Yo, yo, it be
Yeah