Luyện nghe bài hát On My Briefcase

(lynch):
Now on my briefcase was crumbled weed
A pack of and a 24 ounce o.e.
Might as well skeez couple of hoes
In my 69 malibu sittin' on and vogues
For days you might seen me in my cinnamon cut chrome shoes
With some you see me tint on the windows indo syndrome
Smokin' it up, not givin' a fizuck
Sold the cut, my ex-hoe said that sqautin' what?
Got at the homie carl, and got of that bomb
Had me so high I got off like vietnam
Dead and bitches clits simmerin' in the crock pot
And the don't stop until my muthafuckin' chronic or high drop
It's just that insane of thang, let the mac rain guts in the drain
Siccmade they make the world go round
And if you fuck with siccmade music you can get your ass down

(phonk beta):
I had a who stayed up in alaska, used to transfer flights over nebraska
And flew me about a ounce of that alaska indica weed
And out of the whole zip possessed one
Had it real tight all up in cellophane
Can't have the k-9 smell it, man
If you saw what I was seein', the buds was almost pure white, not green
Had to be one of those one quitter dome splitters
That's the type a tweed that you wanna fuck your baby-sitter
I roll a fattie, when I this fattie
Niggas'll be all noid wonderin' why lookin at me
Bitches have the nerve to say my shit bomb
But it'll have your lungs burnin', like your puffin' on

(zagg):
I that sweat up off my forehead, I'm off the cusche
Lay back and take a comfortable hit, with a q-tip, splittin' my lips
And my dome stays off toothpicks
I hit a lick a quickness, dumpin' dead bodies in ditches
Appreciate the fact, correct, 'cause I could be vicious
Suspicion, comin' up on recognition I'm up from behind
a 12 gauge, non-fiction, I'm all prepared to go for mine
So in line, a couple of hits, dome split, I be lit on a for real base
With a machete slice your neck just like them jason cases
Murder traces, but I pinned 'cause there's no evidence
Slight scent of that purple cusche plant, and I can sense the essence
What's the get tested, don't come if you can't come correct
It's that west coast shit for I don't know what you expected
I'm reckless, I'm a pimp in a bulletproof vest
it down, pound for pound, you need to take a step down
50 caliber rounds, I'm runnin' through your town
Buckin' em like doom set on deathmatch with the bfg-9000 cartoon