Luyện nghe bài hát Orange Pineapple Juice

Hand me a bit of umm, orange pineapple juice
I'mma sip on it, it out

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

U-A-C, they get P's and
No I.D., be his P's and
The Late Show, they get 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 kids like
Mac like Donald Goines, flows I change coins
Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng,
I draw a crowd blood with the 'pint of' technique
And there be like, "YEAH!"
Cause cain't near a nig dat'll say 'Whoomp, It Is'
I'm like a mom on 8, over-bearing kids
Shit they be like, "Com-mon!" 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 this is one taste
Of Chicago, we got mo' many mo' many mo' many mo'
Don't just come to me, go ask thy neighbor-I'm-a-hood takin niggas
On the tundra, "they're plain, they're plain"
I'm on a plateau is fat so
just a fan-tasy, for the fans to see
How I land, I'm grand like a
I'm goin back to Cali (why?) Cali got bitches check it
Dart this is a sickness

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

Mister Emcee, just get on gone
Get on gone, you MC!
Steppin to me, with them feets you'll get defeated
Like Kinte, I'm kin to the Lynn crew
My great, great, grandpap done been
So much it's in my to be a ill nigga
So I figure like a father... that I'mma This Mutha Out
But Common you ain't hittin in New
I don't know what you thought hops, but chief I got tall
cats think I'm six feet I'm so deep
Some stunts be I'm six-fo', my shit be hittin like switches
Bitches, ask, why my, britches, sag
I ask the bitches, "Why titties saggin?"
Put your nipple to the bottle I bust rhymes like
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
Didn't you, you and it, and it, and it
And it don't stop, it