Luyện nghe bài hát Parole

[Intro: Technique (parole officer)]
(980505A) nigga what
(You made parole)
(Pack stuff) The fuck?
(And get the out of here) A-haha
Aiyyo man, it's about motherfuckin man
Aiyyo G, G son, I got my papers man
I'm out motherfucker!

Technique]
Yeah, I'm out of jail, and I'm never going again
Never selling heroin, selling crack again
Don't for the government coke packagin
Don't fire indiscriminate, the mac again
My people are stuck behind glass a mannequin
pretend to give a fuck, just like the Vatican
Second chance, faith based, Samaritans
Every time we come back, they... [record
I'm out of jail, and I'm never back again
Never heroin, never selling crack again
I'm out of jail, and I'm going back again
I'm out of, I'm out of (I'm out motherfucker!)

Yeah, I'm out of jail, and I'm never going again
Never selling heroin, never selling crack
Don't work for the government coke
fire indiscriminate, with the mac again
My people are stuck behind like a mannequin
They pretend to a fuck, just like the Vatican
chance, faith based, two-faced Samaritans
Every time we come back, they on cashin in
labor, third-world sweatshop comparisons
'til we the whole fuckin garrison
Yeah, poverty, makes people do, reckless
But corporations do to protect they bling
are more, overcrowded than the rap game
They say you likely to go to jail with a black name
Freakonomics that I speak through
and fuck Phonics, niggaz is (Hooked On) chronic
But if you on stage with the DEA, as hype man
Don't get yourself up, and blame the white man
We gangs and criminal enterprises
Usin O.G.'s as
they, send us to war, after they divide us
But I won't let 'em use us like Roosevelt's Rough Riders
My movement's like a jujitsu
I graduated outta prison, so FUCK my alma mater

[Interlude: Technique (woman)]
(Hello?) yeah, what's up yo?
(Hey, how you doin?) Yo, you know
I just got my papers (you're lying!)
Yo I'm home to you, I'll see you in like a day and a half
([screams] Oh my God, I'm so happy! Are you serious?)
([screams] I'm so happy! Are you serious?)
Yeah, I'm dead serious baby, I'm comin (oh my God!)
Put the blue thing on for me, aight?
(You got baby, yeah!)

Technique]
I'm on parole, and I'll be alone again
this place baby, I'm comin home again
Shorty wrapped around me so I'll, be cold again
have to knock a nigga out, for the phone again
Prison ain't the that you find your rite of passage in
slavery, with nasty food in your abdomen
Middle passage, of the ship, how they pack 'em in
Perpetrators on some fake shit, sweeter than
Jailhouse without corroborating evidence
Niggaz sellin niggaz out for to be, Benjamins
But now I'm free, hit the block, Entenmann's
Benihana in and out, to eat to enter in
Newspaper pencillin, to pay the rent again
job interview, nobody answerin
Feelin violent from the frustation I got up in
But not tryin to go to the place, I was sent up in
my own life around, fuck the establishment
Listenin to hip-hop like "Where the the talent went?"
How the fuck did you replace, lyrics your swaggerin?
fix that, rhymin on with the mag-a-num
I up in a caravan, full of North Africans
My got, more soldier niggaz than the Saracens
Cause just watch (watch!) when the terrorists again
Their gonna be draft 'em and send us back again

I'm on parole, and I'll never be alone
Fuck this place baby, I'm comin home
Shorty wrapped around me so I'll, never be again
Never have to knock a out, for the phone again
Prison the place that you find your rite of passage in
It's slavery, with nasty food in abdomen
Middle passage, bottom of the ship, how they 'em in
Perpetrators on fake shit, sweeter than saccharin
I'm on