Luyện nghe bài hát Orange Pineapple Juice

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

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

U-A-C, get they 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 with the 'pint 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, kids
Shit they be like, "Com-mon!" That's my (true)
Youse a hamburger, I'mma
Askin me to let us catch up, you can't cut the mustard
So where's the beef,
I'm as Worthy as James, not that good with
But I do remember your face from someplace this is one
Of Chicago, we got mo' many mo' many mo' many mo'
Don't just to me, go ask thy neighbor-I'm-a-hood takin niggas under
On the tundra, "they're plain, they're plain"
I'm on a plateau is fat so
It's a fan-tasy, for the fans to see
How I land, I'm grand a finale
I'm goin back to Cali (why?) Cali got bitches check it
Aiyyo 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 Side, we gotta 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 South, you gotta rock on and
it "Now you can go!"

Mister Emcee, just get on gone
Get on gone, you MC!
Steppin to me, with them dirty feets get defeated
Kunta Kinte, I'm kin to the Lynn crew
My great, great, grandpap been through
So much it's in my to be a ill nigga
So I like a father... that I'mma Turn This Mutha Out
But you ain't hittin in New York
I don't what you thought hops, but chief I got tall props
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 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, the truth, y'all had to move your neck to this
you, didn't you and it, and it, and it
And it don't stop, it