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
tucked down to my nuts, on my last buck
Only thing a nigga calm is a good fuck
Loose-leaf be dipped in wet
Chicken of the seas get inside my net
With clothes off, son when the gun goes off
I'm bound to play Napoleon, and blow a off

Your Sphinx, your 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 grain cartridge, with steel casin'
Those who draw the crowd is still tracin'
The mic is cast to the and shapeshifted
Heavy as the hammer of Thor you can't it

So tense, bitch there's no
four-four inch'll make you jump the fence
Right eye squinted; I speak brok-len
off the cold four-oh of old English Wu brew
Two-two inside the
No describin' what heat, in my jacket could do
I teach, seeds to read, never reach for the weed
Bow down to the Bob Digi Digi

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

I keep rice soaked in coconut milk mixed Tofu
Sit in the sun six hours then I charge up like
Z, imagine you're raggin' me
That's like walkin' a Blood 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 million bitch, some laugh

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

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

I MC's 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 chirp
Tall chocolate deluxe buttercup, off the meat
A chickenhead scratch the for worms
And roosters around with their heads in the perm
I be spreadin' knowledge my third eye polished
Never, for dollars to fulfill the black wallet

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

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

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