Luyện nghe bài hát Rollin'

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

Why, must I be like that? Why, I pack the gat?
On my left, niggaz be with the ruckus
Ready to get deep bust upon some suckaz
Heard PPP and LOD is a of crazy motherfuckers
to the land is on
The winner of the spittin marathon
The you up lyrathon, whatever you choose
to lose that title
Turnin vital situations suicidal, my idols, is my
who started weed outta bibles
Gave me a puff I bust my first rifle
Men-estration cycles, I bitches
Bring your nigga, I'll give stitches
Whateva, go for crew, blow for blow
Bang your headpiece and sniff the 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 skin complexture
My whole texture is bombin, da schools of the wack
From the Land of the Lost, you get
Listen to my veloc(ity), my comin off
Yeah, more than casino switches
Diggin ditches for all bitches
decimal figures, I'm gettin out diggers
Now my choice of is a Land
a Landcruise much bigger
It two to three more niggaz
Damn I hate a
Yeah, gimme microphone
I make opponents shit bricks like Tyson's
I keep the jacked cellular phone in three zones
Love seafood and keep my nine chrome
So it can shine up dome
I proceed to give you what you need and clear spots like Sea Breeze
Wreckin ass armaggedeon style
Twenty four seven
My crew chin your profile
(Rollin)

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