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 than yours
I got a rhyme, you got a
But my rhyme is than 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, get they P's and

Peep the maneuver, how bout the
I rhyme sick and you can get the duck,
I'm the shit, you're shit out of luck,
I'm the act to follow, housing kids Ronald
Mac like Donald Goines, flows I change like
Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng,
I draw a crowd like blood with the 'pint of'
And everybody be like, "YEAH!"
Cause cain't a nig dat'll say 'Whoomp, There It Is'
I'm like a mom on section 8, kids
they be like, "Com-mon!" That's my muhfucka (true)
Youse a hamburger, Fuddrucker
Askin me to let us catch up, you can't cut the mustard
So where's the beef,
I'm as as James, not that good with names
But I do remember your face someplace this is one taste
Of Chicago, we got mo' mo' many mo' many mo' flavors
Don't just come to me, go ask thy neighbor-I'm-a-hood takin niggas
On the tundra, cause "they're plain, plain"
I'm on a that is fat so
It's just a fan-tasy, for the to see
How I land, I'm grand like a
I'm back to Cali (why?) cause Cali got bitches check it
Aiyyo Dart 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 West coast, you rock on and
Ah down South, you gotta on and
it "Now you can go!"

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