Luyện nghe bài hát Older Gods

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

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

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

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

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
me the matches now

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

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

That nigga mad savage, stationary Hall of
Niggaz came out
Just home, now they bunked out
Money be longer than triple

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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