Luyện nghe bài hát Next Up

Gawddayum, I don't what y'all been thinkin' 'bout
But I think right here is about to shut dem damn haters down

I'm from the streets that make niggaz slow, talk low
With chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho
Brooklyn motherfucker, this
my Spanish and French

Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay
your face sever, one of the greatest ever
Beyond bells, my name's so demandin'
Shit, I got the swagger leave Dakota Fanning

I hope you over standin', I stay sucker-free
The king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be
Your career a week, that'll be luckily
Fuck with me, the rap game'll need custody

I'm the same thug that be surrounded with
Gave the game true before you found it in denim
Feel the of Kane and you could not escape
The hip hop version of The Ring and you watched the tape

And your eyes on the niggas in Ward
Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of
Me or my brother on pall with n'am
We trill, workin' the wheel, understand

I and split a bitch down to the tendon
High pressure, if you break your ass bendin'
I'm way past endin' in my series of
You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the

Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or
From the to Midwest, Cali to the East
Go to any city nigga and bring my up
I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the up

Call a up, email him or chirp him
Make a out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him
Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil'
I'm the of the Underground, so act like you know me

Homie, we big steppin', big
We givin' Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'
Left the Midwest, clique Texans
G. and Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death

I put private planes on swift Jetsons, know what it is
When you see the ball cap and a slick
Till you strip vexin to a clip from the Westerns
Shit from the Uzi lift up your midsection

He introduce you to the nose on the Glock fam
Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock
holes, you get those on your top, man
High roller dose some hoes on the cock

Froze but coldly rolls with a hot hand
We stackin' cheese till the bands pop scrams
And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop
Bank pounds James Brown give 'em Hot Pants

I your girl get down and open it up
Put my dick up in they and go in they butt
I'm a young hot street flame, they me Sweet James
Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred cologne

Board or Issey Miyaki
I got your girl mine, meat like saki
I ain't Rocky but I her rockin'
Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna out of socket

Your bitch out of pocket, she under
She reckless eyeballin' my top fall in
On my Lamborghini with the scream
Fettucini, linguine, and a bowl of lean

What you know gettin' cross country?
Nigga, piece big but your diamond look monkey
You need to that shit back
That ain't no Emmy what the fuck you done to that

Bitch, what the you done to that?
Now, damn, somebody need to beat ass over that