Luyện nghe bài hát Polo Jeans

[Verse 1: Mac
I no fucks when I go nuts, cause I smoke dust, overdosed on the sofa then
Woke up from the coma up in a Skoda smoked, went back to bed
Never thought it would be such a loner, I tell my that I fucking own her
My daughter just got a dog, I'ma run it over, I'm a fucking soldier
So bro fuck pneumonia, all my bitches got love for Sosa, I just wanna fuck
up coaster then disappear in Southern California
Strung out to the night, I'm chilling, everybody worried the lights kill them
Via sight slipping, long lines of those white
I'm with the homies, bump Crows
Just went the half ounce of coke, blood pouring out my nose
Don't tell my mom I got a problem, I'm fucking high
Leave proper size, when the sun go I come alive
the guns go off in the summer time, cause the guns go off in the summer time

[Hook: Mac
This motherfucking rap song
Broke and crazy, rich and famous doesn't last
Spent all my cash on a dream
from weed and liquor to the coke and lean
All I got's this mansion and potpourri
But don't I so handsome in these Polo jeans?
Don't I so handsome in these Polo jeans?

[Verse 2: Sweatshirt]
I blow a spliff the ink dries on the paper
And lately, I don't like shit, I been on the daily
Getting wasted as the time that I'm high and sedated
I'm putting five in his face, because we buy into bullshit
As soon as it's flashing lights then it's kush to hide in the
I do shit out of spite cause there's niggas that overlooked me forever
I'm more content with and stormier weather
Flip the cross on your rosary, we supposed to be better
But a toast to your efforts, and don't approach me with nothing
That isn't money or breakfast, I'm close to a pussy, pussy
Sweaty Man, you had bet your bottom dollar on him
With a couple niggas, weighing sess like it's a lot
15 on me for and swishers
And who's the shit, a bag of chips, and a decleanser?
I'm over bitches trying to act I owe 'em a picture
Rather introduce these hoes to Vince who show you a pistol
Listen, ST was the older
Been rap game than boa constricters
Rolling stone like a Boulder raving, I'm so impatient and going as
my fucking home location to total strangers
No in my heart for coppers, blood from my lungs on the sink
Cashing out off the garments, the artist, fuck you think
Scowl turned and the carriers could pick
And my flesh when I rest, tell 'em bury me

Mac Miller]