Luyện nghe bài hát Orange Pineapple Juice

Hand me a little bit of umm, pineapple juice
sip on it, check it out

I got a rhyme, you got a
But my rhyme is better yours
I got a rhyme, you got a
But my rhyme is better yours

U-A-C, they get P's and
No I.D., be his P's and
The Show, they get they P's and
ProfessaNots, they get P's and

Peep the maneuver, how the Heim-lich
I rhyme sick and you can get the duck,
I'm the shit, you're out of luck, tough
I'm the act to follow, housing like Ronald
Mac like Donald Goines, flows I change like
Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng,
I draw a crowd like blood with the of' technique
And everybody be like, "YEAH!"
cain't near a nig dat'll say 'Whoomp, There It Is'
I'm like a mom on section 8, over-bearing
Shit be like, "Com-mon!" That's my muhfucka (true)
Youse a hamburger, I'mma
Askin me to let us up, knowin you can't cut the mustard
So the beef, jerky?
I'm as Worthy as James, not that with names
But I do remember your face from someplace is one taste
Of Chicago, we got mo' many mo' many mo' many mo'
Don't come to me, go ask thy neighbor-I'm-a-hood takin niggas under
On the tundra, cause "they're plain, plain"
I'm on a plateau is fat so
just a fan-tasy, for the fans to see
How I land, I'm like a finale
I'm goin back to Cali (why?) cause Cali got bitches it
Dart this is a sickness

Dee-da-da-da-doo-doo, dee-da-da,
Dee-da-da-da-DOO-doo, dee-da-da,
Side, rock on and
The West Side, we rock on and
Hey yo Chicago, we rock on and
The coast, you gotta rock on and
The coast, you gotta rock on and
Ah down South, you gotta on and
it "Now you can go!"

Mister Pussy Emcee, get on gone
Get on gone, you MC!
Steppin to me, with dirty feets you'll get defeated
Kunta Kinte, I'm kin to the Lynn crew
My great, great, grandpap been through
So much it's in my hemoglobin to be a ill
So I figure like a father... I'mma Turn This Mutha Out
But Common you ain't in New York
I know what you thought hops, but chief I got tall props
cats think I'm six feet I'm so deep
Some stunts be thinkin I'm six-fo', my shit be hittin like
Bitches, ask, why my, britches, sag
I ask the bitches, "Why your saggin?"
Put your nipple to the bottle I rhymes like breastses
I can get down, d-d-d-down pessimist
"Ring the Alarm", I got like a neck-a-lace
Tell the truth, tell the truth, y'all had to move your to this
you, didn't you and it, and it, and it
And it stop, bust it