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 with colors
Juicy as a Sunkist, certain double dutch this

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

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

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

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

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

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

nigga mad savage, stationary 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, move it the burner out
Fidel way of thinkin', with the Mac bent Ac-10
of my team, Five Percent check what the live said
Rollin Guess vests pedestrians yo
Holdin' my nuts, fuckin' thousand dollar

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

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

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

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

I stalk the city 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,
Quick to spot those that bite camouflage and
Those that got styles, got identical twins

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