Luyện nghe bài hát Rollin'

Nineteen mother fuckin six
that shit though
Get the motherfuckin packed
We got to pull these shoes out like carpet, word is
the crew with the guns and let's get this shit on

Why, must I be like that? Why, must I pack the
On my left, niggaz be with the ruckus
Ready to get deep rounds upon some suckaz
Heard PPP and LOD is a of crazy motherfuckers
Journey to the is on
The winner of the bomb marathon
The you up lyrathon, whatever you choose
prepare to lose title
Turnin vital situations suicidal, my idols, is my
who started smokin weed outta
Gave me a puff when I bust my first
cycles, I give bitches
Bring your craziest nigga, give stitches
Whateva, go crew for crew, for blow
Bang your headpiece and sniff the snow off hoe
I it rollin

Ask man
How ugly do you have to be to be a MC?
Niggaz be fooled by my and my light skin complexture
My whole texture is bombin, destroyin da schools of the
From the Land of the Lost, you get
Listen to my veloc(ity), my comin off
Yeah, more sneaky than casino
Diggin for all Moskino bitches
decimal figures, I'm gettin out diggers
Now my of truck is a Land
cause a Landcruise bigger
It pack two to more niggaz
I hate a golddigger
Yeah, gimme microphone
I make opponents shit bricks like home
I keep the jacked cellular phone blown in zones
Love seafood and keep my millimis chrome
So it can shine up your
When I to give you what you need and clear spots like Sea Breeze
your ass armaggedeon style
Twenty seven while
My crew chin check profile
(Rollin)

I'm the master of disaster, super maker
Grimy by nature, database
em out like Sega, Saturn
Blow your blocks in patterns for about acres
Testes, crew wearin and double S's
Kani down, camoflouge can't hide the sounds
of a fo' (boo-yaa)
Givin you Six Flags, bustin merry go
But my crew stay ill with that unreal
I be the raw water, my cheek bones outta gills
below like the
Smooth on the trigger for all you block
I be the key to
and rotate enemies at three buck sixty
Pick me, as Senator
Take the dove from your battlefield son, fuck Pat
Run, head for the
Back in the day, niggaz rolled up on me with
the trunk filled with Brooklyns, sheeps and quartervilles
Aiyyo take that shit, aiyyo snap the grill
Body caught chills as he ate nine mil
Mine kills two but my nine was sign
And to deliver, but Money had me too close
to reach for toast, soon as that nigga I broke ghost
Dash back to South Orange Ave with dollar to smoke dope
I keep em