Luyện nghe bài hát Preacher On A Sunday Morning

Kilka, mania,
Get to this one,
"crack"

Oh I'm back on that shit
And I say about now New York City.

say is life and death, there's no future fronting.
I see a mac and a tec keeping duz
Coka,
Joe is a Cartagegna
Nice the hands better with the banger.
I'm no stranger
Keep an A.K when I battle probably a fake nigga parade. I'm known!
But who a fuck I don't care.
Don't lead them let the feed them.
Niggas had me thinking that is fucked up!
Skiddles with the banging rooftops.
Life for you maybe the Jew is crazy
In the stay pieces to thanks to who baby.

Stay cleaned up on a preacher on a sunday morning, I got cake but I need ice and alle
I say off the streets I'm a symphony, niggas want my sympathy presiding remedy,
Stay cleaned up on a preacher on a morning,

King of New york, King of New York, but we ever see these niggas up in New york
Can anybody tell me where
All these so called killers try their to dress gay.
Everybody it's the same old day.
All these rappers now want to claim king
Everybody saying they are New Yor back
But we the only niggas you back the back (crack!)
You the echo, son of a nesto I'll let the tec blow
You should feel sky plenty like pistol, fuck a phone I barely got a whistle

Coka, no one harder
Get off your get a job at the carter.
Throw a banks and your friends,
to see a couple of ends.
See I've been getting money since who when
These other niggas all pretend
You've been bamboozled diz duzu say
Love at madison they givin group hugs
Now let me you to the streets of darkness,
Where I keep your favourite mc underneath my armpit the kid.
I'm only the truth,
Shit, look what streets
May do