Luyện nghe bài hát Older Gods

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

They carve it in they wrist, pales 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 niggaz in they whips

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

Real loud on the stage yo, I shitted on your kid
I shitted on hood, got to your burner too late
I'm lookin' real good, draped out, shinin' like a fresh fifty 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 might walk up in your studio
Time slap your engineer, it's lighter fluid to style
Hand me the now

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

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

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

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

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

Let the shot spark, soon as his pit barks
Tire scars from skid marks leaves jams 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, back in the eighty three heat
Up in three-oh-nine park, off the drummer's beat

I stalk the city streets demonstratin' mic
All lookin' stank, I ain't playin' wit a full
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 got styles, they got identical twins

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