Luyện nghe bài hát Older Gods

Aiyyo, I like a bat out of hell
Evil acapell's fly out of my grill
Before I hit the sky with springtime
Juicy as a Sunkist, broads double dutch this

They carve it in they wrist, berry blazes
Straighten the crumbs left on the stove in my lady hair
Plus yours the gold God, the old tainted bald technique
Got these vestibules niggaz in they whips

Jumpin' out seats, eighteen, Bronzeman Part II
We like Dorothy on ice
We in your hood we might circle, down low in the Range
Switch lanes, my tire, peel out

Real loud on the stage yo, I shitted on your kid
I shitted on your hood, got to your too late
I'm lookin' real good, draped out, shinin' like a fresh fifty piece
girlfriend, c'mere
Oh shit, you my man's niece, the pocket twenty

Bombs made of clay, take place
We fucked in forty-eight shades might walk up in studio
Time slap your engineer, it's lighter to that style
Hand me the now

Aiyyo Roley on the wrist, now what's this
Niggaz bless this, and a half, Bally banana twist
E shakes, puffin' on lye, the seed's plate
Pullin' out, old dirty eights to rob

wake up, the kid telltales, make a nigga head wake up
Beats break, the would take off his time
status, gladdest
The rich cabbage and dollar vans grands

That nigga mad savage, stationary of Justice
Niggaz clumped out
came home, now they bunked out
Money be than triple life

'Til the sun burn out, that's my word, move it the burner out
way of thinkin', roll with the Mac bent Ac-10
Most of my team, Percent check what the live said
Rollin with vests pedestrians yo
my nuts, fuckin' thousand dollar lesbians

Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock
Three-Sixty Lord live prosperous
It only takes a lesson a day, to analyze life
One time in the mind

Yo, the Older God put me on and had to rock
Maintain Three-Sixty Lord live
It only a lesson a day, just to analyze life
One in the respectable mind

Let the shot spark, as his pit bull barks
Tire scars from skid marks leaves jams in school parks
Witness, forget his original
Even in programs there's no escapement

Gunned down, we in town, hit king from seven
Spent catch him while he rhyme in the Zebra Lounge
Wounded, back in the eighty summer heat
Up in three-oh-nine park, rhymin' off the beat

I stalk the city streets mic wrecks
All lookin' stank, I playin' wit a full deck
And as nervously stare, I know they scared
They saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times

Household name, assassin, bee
Mill to the grain, that posses the Wu,
Quick to those that bite camouflage and blend
Those that got styles, they got twins

Don't the small thing, copycats are finnicky
skills, they master the art of mimicry
But I go line for on the whole page
unspotted life on the mic is old age