Luyện nghe bài hát Politics

[Chorus: Cee-Lo, the 5'9"]
me a mountain. Give me a sea
Put your mind on wonderland, be you want to be. Wooow
Politics. Ha my nigga
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, I've been
For rap problems
accountant countin his rap dollars
The ice on the sleeve of the white collar
like the Pisa towser, he's in power
Standing on top of the bottom
You should pack up now that the glove is with me
Take your hat off inside of the mitten you spittin
'Cause you can get it for
whole rap clapped up out you
If I don't get you up
Got you in a morgue sittin in the drawer
I can't be caught, I can't be bought
They call me the anti-core,
Anti, when it comes to the kind of hugs
That come from a fake
show me a sign of love
Who am I to but you would not out of love
Walk up if I was washed up like a flood
I ain't to bug
But why you got to shove
on..

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

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

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

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

It's politics my nigga. 8X]