Luyện nghe bài hát On My Briefcase

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

(phonk beta):
I had a homie who stayed up in alaska, used to transfer over nebraska
And flew me back about a ounce of that alaska indica
And out of the zip possessed one seed
Had it wrapped real all up in cellophane
Can't the k-9 dogs 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 hitter quitter dome
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 ain't bomb
But it'll have your lungs burnin', like puffin' on napalm

(zagg):
I wipe sweat up off my forehead, I'm off the cusche
Lay back and take a comfortable hit, a q-tip, it's splittin' my lips
And my stays split off toothpicks
I hit a lick with a quickness, dumpin' dead bodies in
Appreciate the fact, correct, 'cause I could be vicious
Suspicion, up on recognition I'm creepin' up from behind
With a 12 gauge, non-fiction, I'm all to go for mine
So in line, a couple of hits, dome split, I be lit on a for real base
With a machete I'll slice 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 almost sense the
What's the get tested, don't come if you can't come correct
It's that west coast shit for life I know what you expected
I'm reckless, nevertheless I'm a pimp in a bulletproof
Puttin' it down, pound for pound, you need to a step down
50 caliber rounds, I'm runnin' through your town
Buckin' em down doom set on deathmatch with the bfg-9000 cartoon