Luyện nghe bài hát Paper Trippin'

Uhh, yeah! What's crackin Dub C
Still chasin this cheese, puttin it
Nate?
[Chorus: Nate
Nigga I ain't rich yet, I'm stackin G's (dem dolla dolla dollars)
Ain't afraid to bust back, paper's all I need (we rider riders)
Nigga I ain't yet, I'm still stackin G's (yeah, yeah)
Ain't to bust back, paper's all I need

it out
What they hittin fo'? Look I'm sick of all chattin
Bullshit rappin, let's get it a-crackin
Y'all niggaz ready fo' a nigga that's gettin paper
Foe scraper, shaker, the white, Chuck Taylors
Dark fat laces and fetti big-ass faces
Blue gators (?), X.O. by the
The ringleader with weed and my zag smashin
Ya bang ambassador, givin it up back blastin ya
Off brand assassin-er, jackin for c'mon
up a rock, with a repetitive offender
The purple tinter, the big
The realest you know, smellin like doe doe and Pruno
Sick with the flow, swangin low-lows and
Gather the guests at my mansions and throw my parties
Ex criminal turned corporate; my game to worldwide nation
Tippin on trippin nia


Big beans or big wings or big
Befo' y'all stands a ghetto with big dreams
I throw the dice, close my eyes and roll 'em
Take my handkerchief and fold 'em, know the slogan
Riders don't worry multiply shift
fingers in the sky, fuck hoes and stay high
The the lick the bigger the hit to cash it all
So whether ready or not I'm snatchin it all
Wood grains and chrome the mode is hang
A trick won't sang, transported dem thangs
Fuck the pain, give me a label ain't shit
Look I'm to touch that Rush and Lyor Cohen's money
Get the Neville's and blow doja with my stash on rich
And get my dick by the baddest bitch
Fade ya, real boy major with tough shit ain't got
like three-way pagers, nigga I'm trippin

[Nate
Paper is all.. (dolla dolla dolla dollars)
.. (dolla dolla dolla dollars)
.. (dolla dolla dolla dollars)
.. I

Testin testin, broadcastin
All day unleaded'll go fo'
No no cut, just the bomb pow-wow
Gots to get my on that new body style
Floss all you nigga, toss up
A rugged smokin on a cigarette butt
Mashin and I lettin the pedal up
Cause all these songs on my radio ghetto enough
'em up with the tank in the cut, I'm sweated to bust
Dub C'zy, fo'ever, 'em up
Hands I'm the motherfuckin man
Who else could a gang hop and turn it to a national dance
Givin the fans a glance of a rider his pants
with my rag on my cane standin in a stance, nigga
Worldwidin, ridin,
Fool it's sincerely yours the Ghetto Heisman, paper


Dub C, ghetto extrordinaire, hood
through with fingers in the air
Y'all what time it is
[Nate] Nigga I rich yet, I'm still stackin G's
Dem dolla dolla dollars