Luyện nghe bài hát Nobody Fucking With Us

B]
Let's get it like transmission and alternators
Got the keys in the cage ready for who you call the
Takin 'em from the biggest bitches to smallest haters
I'm to serve these niggaz, call 'em waiters
Got my mind right, money right, for war
And I got the C4, my competitor's car
These niggaz 'round talkin 'bout they better than moi
When I'm done all that's be left 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 shit on my
Bitch I'm the shit, see the stains that I done left on the
And I ain't sayin no names but I left the on they back
And they sayin no names so I gotta say it myself
I'm finger fuckin this game so you gotta play with
Don't pull a K off the shelf, or a strap out the stash
I ain't gotta the pistol, I will chop at yo' ass
I just let the hands of God on you fast
Leave you mashed potatoes on the top of the grass
Call the coppers to catch me and they'll just you to drop it
I'll you sooner or later, and they can't do shit to stop it
Got that thang and I'ma pop it a bubble on the double
I am trouble in the flesh, you can't see me the Hubble
We ain't wishin niggaz good luck, go get a clover
This Bun B, "B.E. 3," this shit is over

I]
SLAUGHTERHOUUUUUSE! (Whoo, Kiiiiiiiid!)

[Joe
Look at ya man look back at me, yeah I know, sickenin
Few got a Porsche only two doors, need to upgrade cause you missin some
We just got two bills, different styles, different sums
as a drive-by, ended as a hit-and-run
Stop me in the streets, let it be properly when you
Fuck lookin for me, I'm on your if it's beef
Not for of ya piece, it's lobomomy with my peeps
comraderie is usually sodomy for the beat
'Less my critics put a on them, so I could look through it
Shut the fuck up, mean that you too shook to do it
We'd see two pennies to your name, yet you so
When I fix this you can (Thank Me Later) for it, no Aubrey
my demeanor up I'm, off my 380 shit
My, future's bright, is by my head, baby shit
Make me sick, you eat don't make me shit
Found out the they hate me is my God-like presence, must be athiest
all of the frauds in rap is talkin swag put a fork in that
Slaughter's back, 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 heard she got (Boston Crab)
Batteries in your back, go by he say
Just need you to that it's no lee-way, and the tables are turned, go DJ
So you know what that for
That bloodshed's a secret, let's keep it closed doors

[Chorus: Da 5'9"]
Who you was dope again?
Ay, it ain't nobody with us, nobody fuckin with us
Who you said was hot
Ay ay, it ain't nobody fuckin with us, nobody with us
Who you say spit again?
Ay, it ain't nobody fuckin with us, nobody with us
Who you say was again?
Ay ay, it ain't nobody fuckin 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 ya destiny cause you a pessimistic loser
Mess with me and I'll shoot ya
I'ma do's ya like I'm reppin the
Die hard like I'm sexin with Medusa, do nigga
Born thuggin, I fuck with the cock
Nuts hang down my leg, balls tucked 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 with my
Do I think I'm the dopest, in I do
you switch your whole style like you're datin Erykah Badu
Pair of Ferragamo shoes, I will you
I'm fucked up, like the relationship Farrakhan and Jews
I'm this instrumental, like a wrinkly old bitch
I'm whippin the and snare, make 'em pick they own switch
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
Gettin younger and fresher, puttin bums under some
Yes sir! Watch the Slaughterhouse album
Every line is white powder, I ain't talkin 'bout
I am tighter than "The Biggest Losers" cruisin in a car
Distinguished alkie, the on the armoire
I'm from the home of the most popular bomb
Most proper, hoes with my partners who top seed
Po' vodka, we gon' bottle pop in the breeze
No copper can stop a COB star - I'm a
Dumpin my ashes out on top of the palm trees
Chrome chopper, if I you drop on the concrete
You wanna about the paper? Oh let's do it
Batter pocket syndrome, the money we abuse it
gettin out-of-town paper so don't confuse it
Tell the hip-hop cops nah, it's only
And steady eavesdroppin on "The Bar Exam"
in your trunk now dependin on what car I ram