Luyện nghe bài hát Politics

[Chorus: Cee-Lo, the 5'9"]
Give me a mountain. me a sea
Put your mind on wonderland, be you want to be. Wooow
It's Politics. Ha my
Politics. Ha my
Politics. Ha my
Politics. Ha my
Politics. Ha my
Politics. Ha my
Politics. Ha my
Politics. Ha my

Da 5'9"]
Seven years and countin, been accounting
For rap problems
'Cause countin his rap dollars
The ice on the sleeve of the white collar
Leanin like the towser, he's in power
on top of the black bottom
You pack up now that the dirty glove is with me
your hat off inside of the mitten when you spittin
'Cause you can get it for
whole rap clapped up out you
If I get you back up
Got you in a morgue sittin in the drawer
Niggaz I can't be caught, I can't be
They call me the anti-core,
Anti, when it comes to the kind of hugs
come from a fake thug
That show me a sign of
Who am I to judge but you would not out of
up if I was washed up like a Tsunami flood
I trying to bug
But why you got to shove
on..

Da 5'9"]
Excuse me while I school them on how to pay dues
Tell whoever jealous and want to me, cool
The whole got the old bland of Mercedes blues
Everybody wanna fill shoes
I call it the sniffs, the Phantom flu
'Cause y'all sick, what exists, can't be you
I told y'all niggaz in oh-two that I be touched
Yo bitch me sugar dick with the candy nuts
But shit sweet, don't get it twisted
I'll yo ass, I don't need wine, I don't need cash
stick a sock in any nigga mouth in any market
If he talkin, he a target, in his apartment
he drinkin, spark him 'til he leakin, coughin Remy Martin
'Cause if I flip my lid, you'd have to him in the garbage
Is nothin to toughen you out, is you frontin about
We cuttin you in, I'm you out

Da 5'9"]
Royce nine is a prophet, in every sense of the word
Superb finisher, words like ministers
The tales of the low sales of a poet
Centuries up in the pen that he holds up
He it to holy grail, when he saw the soul
he was since told his flows, the Davinci code
Since chosen, he harder
But he spot a rival revolvers inside
His bible like, Heins with the rage of Harlem
Po-po's harder, free-on, we so cold
Red like beam be on sight, we got weed green
We got a one yay, Celine white, green
Your last breath, you about heartbeats away from death
'Cause you the leon type, so
Make you in peace
No records bein sold, less is me
nine, unsigned

[Spoken Word -
Yeahh, Royce Da 5'9", my nigga
This is a M.I.C and with collaboration
and gentleman, I would like to introduce to you, Cee-Lo Green. Let's go

[Royce and
me a mountain. (Dream my nigga). Give me a sea
(All my niggaz dealin with the politics). Put mind on wonderland
(I smell you my nigga). Be you want to be. (Dream my nigga)

It's politics my nigga. 8X]