Luyện nghe bài hát Nobody Fucking With Us

B]
Let's get it started transmission and alternators
Got the keys in the cage ready for who you the greatest
Takin 'em down from the biggest bitches to haters
I'm 'bout to serve these niggaz, call 'em
Got my right, money right, ready for war
And I got the C4, under my car
These niggaz runnin 'round talkin 'bout better than moi
When I'm done all that's gon' be bitch is ya head and ya bra
Bitch I'm of the pack, and I'm ahead of the game
And I put yo' head on a platter you put some on my name
Bitch I'm the shit, see the stains that I left on the track?
And I ain't sayin no but I left the best on they back
And ain't sayin no names so I gotta say it myself
I'm finger fuckin game so you gotta play with yourself
Don't pull a K off the shelf, or pull a strap out the
I gotta draw the pistol, I will chop at yo' ass
I just let the of God toe-tap on you fast
Leave you mashed like potatoes on the top of the
the coppers to catch me and they'll just tell you to drop it
I'll find you sooner or later, and they can't do shit to it
Got that thang and I'ma pop it like a bubble on the
I am trouble in the flesh, you can't see me the Hubble
We ain't wishin these good luck, go get a clover
This Bun B, it's "B.E. 3," shit is over

I]
SLAUGHTERHOUUUUUSE! (Whoo, Kiiiiiiiid!)

[Joe
Look at ya man look back at me, yeah I know, huh?
Few got a Porsche with only two doors, need to upgrade cause you missin
We just got two different bills, styles, different sums
Started as a drive-by, as a hit-and-run
Stop me in the streets, let it be properly you greet
Fuck lookin for me, I'm on your property if beef
Not for robbery of ya piece, lobomomy with my peeps
That comraderie is usually for the beat
my critics put a lens on them, so I could look through it
Shut the fuck up, probably mean that you too to do it
We'd see two pennies to your name, yet you so
When I fix game you can (Thank Me Later) for it, no Aubrey
Switch my up I'm, off my 380 shit
My, bright, stars is by my head, baby shit
me sick, what you eat don't make me shit
Found out the they hate me is my God-like presence, must be athiest
While all of the frauds in rap is talkin put a fork in that
back, listen nigga I got houses all across the map
Even got a Boston pad, got this from Boston bad
Well put her in a wrestlin move, but I she got that (Boston Crab)
in your back, go by what he say
Just you to know that it's no lee-way, and the tables are turned, go DJ
So you know what blindfold's for
That a secret, let's keep it behind closed doors

[Chorus: Da 5'9"]
Who you was dope again?
Ay, it ain't nobody fuckin us, nobody fuckin with us
Who you said was hot
Ay ay, it ain't nobody with us, nobody fuckin with us
Who you say spit again?
Ay, it ain't fuckin with us, nobody fuckin with us
Who you say was again?
Ay ay, it ain't fuckin with us, nobody fuckin with us

I]
I'm the and the future
Like Christmas in I'm the present in the future, an executive producer
You will never get to choose ya destiny cause you a pessimistic
with me and I'll definitely shoot ya
I'ma do's ya I'm reppin the Yakuza
Die hard I'm sexin with Medusa, do somethin nigga
thuggin, I don't fuck with the cock
Nuts hang down my pant leg, balls in my socks
I ain't act tough to get a couple of props
Little nigga raised hisself, I don't know what's up my pops
Do I I'm the dopest, in America? I do
Make you switch your whole style like you're datin Badu
of Ferragamo shoes, I will stomp you
I'm fucked up, like the between Farrakhan and Jews
I'm spankin this instrumental, a wrinkly old bitch
I'm whippin the kick and snare, make 'em pick they own
I'm than computers that know how to fix they own glitch
I'll leave you face down, like who lick they own tits
And from this day forward, Crooked is backwards
younger and fresher, puttin bums under some pressure
Yes sir! the next Slaughterhouse album
Every is white powder, I ain't talkin 'bout talcum
I am tighter than "The Losers" cruisin in a Smart car
alkie, the flask on the armoire
I'm the home of the most popular bomb weed
Most proper, hoes rock with my who top seed
Po' vodka, we gon' pop in the calm breeze
No copper can stop a COB - I'm a giant
Dumpin my ashes out on top of the palm trees
chopper, if I squeeze you drop on the concrete
You talk about the paper? Oh let's do it
pocket syndrome, the money we gon' abuse it
Still gettin out-of-town paper so confuse it
Tell the hip-hop cops nah, it's music
And haters steady on "The Bar Exam"
Probably in your now dependin on what car I ram