Luyện nghe bài hát Older Gods

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

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

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

loud 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, out, shinin' like a fresh fifty cent piece
Your girlfriend,
Oh shit, you my niece, the gourmet pocket twenty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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