Luyện nghe bài hát Older Gods

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

carve it in they wrist, pales berry blazes
Straighten the crumbs on the stove clothes in my lady hair
Plus the look gold God, the old tainted bald technique
Got these vestibules designer niggaz in they

out they seats, eighteen, Bronzeman Part II
We like Hamill on ice
We in your hood we might circle, hats low in the Range
Switch lanes, change my tire, out

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

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

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

Major up, the kid telltales, make a nigga head wake up
break, the nigga would take off his time
Honolulu status,
The rich rock cabbage and dollar vans

nigga mad savage, stationary Hall of Justice
Niggaz clumped out
Just came home, now they out
Money be longer triple life

the sun burn out, that's my word, move it with the burner out
Fidel way of thinkin', roll with the Mac bent
Most of my team, Five Percent check the live said
with Guess vests pedestrians yo
Holdin' my nuts, thousand dollar lesbians

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

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

Let the spark, soon as his pit bull barks
scars from skid marks leaves from jams in school parks
Witness, forget his original
Even in protection programs no escapement

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

I stalk the streets demonstratin' mic wrecks
All lookin' stank, I ain't playin' wit a deck
And as they nervously stare, I they scared
saw the coming of Wu, the neon in Times Square

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

stretch the small thing, copycats are finnicky
Without skills, they the art of mimicry
But I go line for line on the whole
unspotted life on the mic is old age