Luyện nghe bài hát Rollin'

Nineteen mother fuckin six
That's shit though
Get the motherfuckin packed
We got to pull shoes out like carpet, word is bond
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 rollin the ruckus
Ready to get bust rounds upon some suckaz
Heard PPP and LOD is a bunch of crazy
to the land is on
The of the spittin bomb marathon
The you up lyrathon, whatever you choose
prepare to that title
Turnin situations suicidal, my idols, is my Uncles
who started smokin weed outta
me a puff when I bust my first rifle
Men-estration cycles, I bitches
your craziest nigga, I'll give stitches
Whateva, go crew for crew, for blow
Bang your and sniff the snow off your hoe
I it rollin

Ask man
How do you have to be to be a hardcore MC?
Niggaz be fooled by my plaques and my light skin
My whole texture is bombin, da schools of the wack
the Land of the Lost, you get tossed
Listen to my veloc(ity), my crew's off
Yeah, more sneaky casino switches
Diggin for all Moskino bitches
decimal figures, I'm gettin out diggers
Now my choice of truck is a
cause a much bigger
It pack two to three niggaz
I hate a golddigger
Yeah, gimme microphone
I make opponents shit like Tyson's home
I keep the jacked cellular phone in three zones
Love seafood and keep my nine millimis
So it can shine up your
When I proceed to give you what you need and spots like Sea Breeze
Wreckin ass armaggedeon style
Twenty four while
My crew chin check your
(Rollin)

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