Luyện nghe bài hát Preacher On A Sunday Morning

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

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

They say is life and death, no future fronting.
I see a mac and a tec keeping duz
Coka,
Joe is a fake
Nice with the hands better the banger.
Guns I'm no
Keep an A.K when I battle probably throw a fake parade. I'm known!
But who gives a I don't care.
Don't them let the welfare feed them.
Niggas had me that Joey is fucked up!
Skiddles the maybachs banging rooftops.
Life sucks for you maybe the Jew is
In the stay pieces to death to who baby.

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

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

Coka, no one harder
Get off knees 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 knows
These other niggas all pretend
You've been bamboozled diz duzu say
at madison square they givin group hugs
Now let me you to the streets of darkness,
Where I your favourite mc underneath my armpit the bronze kid.
I'm only the truth,
Shit, look what streets
May do