Luyện nghe bài hát Reason For Rhyme

Verse 1, MJG,

I'm MJG, the nigga with the style
Check your calendar realize that I here for awhile
I was young I took the soul up out of rhythm and blues
When hip hop originated slowly my dues
And take my shoes, and try to a mile in my past
them salt shaker sheisters tryin to get in that ass
It's been too long, you fittin to feel the south
Shut your mouth, shut do you little freak ass hoe
I'm tired of all this damn east and west coast shit
Especially when other niggaz to work in this bitch
I paid my dues to the fullest, worked to god hard
For you too the industry and leave me out of a job
You niggaz yourself, to maintain yourself
And now you playin with rope to actually hang yourself
But you don't care, hell, you fallin deep in the plot
Mesmerized from all the and the money you got
You must of forgot they said that rap would never last ten
And if your to the fact, I'm tryin to have a career
Now listen here, what do we have, we got probable
To keep the pen on the paper and the glock in drawers, nigga

Remember back we used to do this shit for fun
the dopest on my block made me ranked number one
No gun, just a pen and notebook paper by the
In the crib, funky off the next nigga beat
No electronics to make the that I wrote the chronic
Shit sick to bring vomit from your stomach
Quick as a comet, shield eyes from the UV
Groovey, like a nigga from a movie
Real about the shit that I express over dope
You can't say it was unless you grew up on my street
Concrete niggaz, runnin from FED niggaz,
Po' ass scared niggaz, that came out niggaz
And all I ever to be was an emcee
Did a little dirt and it wasn't for me
Poetry through my bloodstream like a drug
I'm addicted to rhyme because I love the buzz,

Chorus, 2X:

My for rhyme
Because I'm to this rap
My for rhyme
Because I'm real this rap
My reason for
It ain't all the cheese
Even though fat lp's can make a g's

Verse 2,

My for rhymin, while I'm in, a position to be tellin
It's not about the fame and bitches who be yellin
At my concerts, one verse, dicks up, fuck
Lies spreadin now you tangled in a mix up
I up, do sits up, and squeeze my mental mindrame back in order
And use my hand as a tape
Jottin all the information placed in front of me
The good time, the bad time, the way I it oughta be
Now follow G, can you
If you can drink a shot of Hen
Hit this on your silver end
Friends don't be friends and foes don't be
the way you bring it, that's how you want it, I suppose
I can up out the game keep my aim on my paper
And I'll be sure to keep my pimpin real with Draper
And I'll potray the man I'm known to be
Dim the (Hip-tie) for the MJG

Chorus, 2X

Verse 3,

me a crowd of wild niggaz who love real hip hop
And smoke get soaked up, like water in a mop
Drop among me and my own folk
And let that bullshit among the past with ghosts
Ain't no of bein takin seriously
limited avenues are given to me
So, naturally I take shit and shit mine
Jackin only for position in this called rhyme
Freestyle, not great, but if you wait for a
I could write some shit down that get a gold record
Thought about not the first thing I think about
MJG and Eightball and hard is how we out
Runnin out, niggaz who can't hold on like En
Even though I moved out the I'm still ten toed
Down for the I do, the Suave House crew
True to this shit, because this is so true

Chorus, 2X

End shoutouts