Luyện nghe bài hát Preacher On A Sunday Morning

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

Oh yeah I'm back on shit
And I say right about now New City.

They say is and death, there's no future fronting.
I see a mac and a tec keeping duz
Coka,
Joe is a Cartagegna
Nice with the hands with the banger.
Guns I'm no
Keep an A.K when I probably throw 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 Joey is fucked up!
Skiddles with the maybachs rooftops.
Life sucks for you the Jew is crazy
In the stay to death 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 my sympathy presiding official remedy,
cleaned up on a preacher on a sunday morning,

King of New york, of New York, but we don't ever see these niggas up in New york
Can tell me where centropey
All these so called try their best to dress gay.
Everybody beefing the same old day.
All these mixtape rappers now to claim king
Everybody saying they are New Yor back
But we the only you pitch back the back (crack!)
You hear the echo, son of a nesto I'll let the tec
You should feel sky plenty like pistol, fuck a call I barely got a whistle

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