Luyện nghe bài hát Reason For Rhyme

Verse 1, MJG,

I'm MJG, the nigga with the versatile
Check your calendar realize that I been here for
When I was I took the soul up out of rhythm and blues
When hip hop originated slowly paid my
And take my shoes, and try to a mile in my past
Without them salt sheisters tryin to get in that ass
It's been too long, you fittin to feel the south
Shut your mouth, your do you little freak ass hoe
I'm bout tired of all this east and west coast shit
when other niggaz tryin to work in this bitch
I paid my dues to the fullest, to god damn hard
For you too kill the industry and me out of a job
You niggaz strain yourself, to maintain
And now you playin with enough rope to hang yourself
But you don't care, hell, you constantly fallin deep in the
Mesmerized all the bitches and the money you got
You must of forgot they said that rap would last ten years
And if selfish 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

back when we used to do this shit for fun
Bein the dopest on my block made me number one
No gun, just a pen and notebook by the sheet
In the crib, gettin funky off the nigga beat
No electronics to make the shit that I the chronic
Shit sick enough to vomit from your stomach
Quick as a comet, shield your eyes the UV
Groovey, like a nigga a Batman movie
Real about the that I express over dope beats
You can't say it was fake unless you up on my street
Concrete head niggaz, runnin FED niggaz,
Po' ass scared niggaz, that came out dead
And all I wanted to be was an emcee
Did a little dirt and found it for me
Poetry flowin through my bloodstream like a
I'm to rhyme because I love the buzz, nigga

Chorus, 2X:

My for rhyme
I'm true to this rap
My for rhyme
Because I'm with this rap
My for rhyme
It all about the cheese
Even though fat lp's can make a g's

Verse 2,

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

Chorus, 2X

3, Eightball:

Give me a crowd of niggaz who love real hip hop
And smoke get soaked up, like water in a mop
Drop presidents among me and my own
And let that bullshit walk among the past with
Ain't no hope of takin seriously
When limited avenues are to me
So, I take shit and make 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 could get a gold
about not the first thing that I think about
MJG and Eightball and hard is how we out
Runnin out, niggaz who hold on like En Vogue
Even though I out the mound I'm still ten toed
for the shit I do, the Suave House crew
True to this shit, because this shit is so

Chorus, 2X

End shoutouts