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 for a 40 ounce son, Garcia Vega
Two bags of chips, and one pack of Now and
Flame down to my nuts, on my last buck
thing keep a nigga calm is a good fuck
Loose-leaf cigarettes be in wet
Chicken of the get trapped inside my net
With their off, son when the gun goes off
I'm bound to Napoleon, and blow a nose off

Your Sphinx, your rap style, your flow's off
Like Kunta, tryin' to run with his chopped off
Unchallenged sword I yield the storm
Clip of ruffled-tip fast-actin' long fire
Four hundred grain cartridge, with steel
Those who can't draw the crowd is still
The mic is to the floor and shapeshifted
Heavy as the of Thor you can't lift it

So tense, bitch there's no
This four-four inch'll make you the fence
Right eye squinted; I brok-len English
off the cold four-oh of old English Wu brew
Two-two the shoe
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 must be
Oh, no, it be Bobby
Oh, no, it must be
Oh, no, it be

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

shafts of morning dew on Nancy Drew
Sherlock Holmes crime sleuth figure the Wu
You loaf of bread head, keep a head
One point five million years my

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

I keep MC's puzzled 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 deluxe buttercup, off the meat rack
A chickenhead scratch the yard for
And roosters around with their heads in the perm
I be spreadin' knowledge keepin' my eye polished
Never, chase for dollars to fulfill the black

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 you like Beatlemania

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

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