Luyện nghe bài hát On My Briefcase

(lynch):
Now on my briefcase was some crumbled
A pack of saravegas and a 24 o.e.
as well skeez 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 you can't see me tint on the windows indo syndrome
Smokin' it up, not givin' a muthafuckin'
Sold the cut, my ex-hoe that nigga's sqautin' what?
Got at the carl, and got some of that bomb
Had me so high I got off like vietnam
Dead bodies and bitches simmerin' in the crock pot
And the shit don't stop my muthafuckin' chronic or high drop
It's just that insane type of thang, let the mac 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 homie who stayed up in alaska, to transfer flights over nebraska
And flew me back about a ounce of 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 only you saw what I was seein', the buds was almost pure white, not
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
be all noid wonderin' why they lookin at me
Bitches have the nerve to say my shit ain't
But it'll have your lungs burnin', your puffin' on napalm

(zagg):
I that 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 dome stays off toothpicks
I hit a lick with a quickness, dead bodies in ditches
the fact, come correct, 'cause I could be vicious
Suspicion, comin' up on recognition I'm creepin' up behind
With a 12 gauge, non-fiction, I'm all to go for mine
So step in line, a couple of hits, split, I be lit on a for real base
With a machete I'll slice your neck like them jason cases
Murder traces, but I ain't 'cause there's no evidence
scent of that purple cusche plant, and I can almost sense the essence
What's the lesson? get tested, come if you can't come correct
It's that west shit for life I don't know what you expected
I'm reckless, I'm a pimp in a bulletproof vest
Puttin' it down, pound for pound, you need to take a step
50 caliber rounds, I'm runnin' your whole town
Buckin' em down like set on deathmatch with the bfg-9000 cartoon