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
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 seas get trapped my net
With their clothes off, son when the gun off
I'm bound to play Napoleon, and blow a off

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

So tense, bitch no defense
This four-four make you jump the fence
Right eye squinted; I brok-len English
Stumble off the cold of old English Wu brew
Two-two inside the
No describin' what this heat, in my jacket 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 be Bobby
Oh, no, it be

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

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

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

I MC's 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
Tall chocolate deluxe buttercup, off the rack
A chickenhead the yard for worms
And roosters walk around their heads in the perm
I be spreadin' knowledge keepin' my eye polished
Never, chase for dollars to fulfill the black

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

Yo, it must be
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