Luyện nghe bài hát Older Gods

Aiyyo, I roll a bat out of hell
Evil fly spittin' out of my grill
Before I hit the sky with springtime
Juicy as a Sunkist, certain broads double dutch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Til the sun burn out, that's my word, it with the burner out
Fidel way of thinkin', roll the Mac bent Ac-10
Most of my team, Five Percent check the live said
Rollin with 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 takes a lesson a day, just to analyze life
One time in the mind

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

Let the spark, soon as his pit bull barks
Tire scars from skid leaves from jams in school parks
Witness, forget his statement
Even in protection there's no escapement

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

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

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

Don't stretch the small thing, are finnicky
Without skills, they the art of mimicry
But I go line for line on the page
Your life on the mic is old age