Luyện nghe bài hát Rollin'

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

Why, I be like that? Why, must I pack the gat?
On my left, niggaz be rollin with the
Ready to get deep bust rounds some suckaz
PPP and LOD is a bunch of crazy motherfuckers
Journey to the is on
The winner of the bomb marathon
The fuck you up lyrathon, whatever you
to lose 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 give
Bring your craziest nigga, I'll give
Whateva, go crew for crew, for blow
your headpiece and sniff the snow off your hoe
I keep it

Ask man
How ugly do you to be to be a hardcore MC?
Niggaz be fooled by my plaques and my skin complexture
My texture is bombin, destroyin da schools of the wack
From the of the Lost, you get tossed
Listen to my veloc(ity), my comin off
Yeah, more sneaky than casino
Diggin ditches for all bitches
Clockin decimal figures, I'm gettin out
Now my choice of truck is a
a Landcruise much bigger
It pack two to three more
I hate a golddigger
Yeah, gimme that
I make opponents shit bricks Tyson's home
I keep the jacked cellular phone in three zones
Love seafood and keep my millimis chrome
So it can shine up dome
When I proceed to give you what you need and clear spots Sea Breeze
your ass armaggedeon style
Twenty four while
My crew chin your profile
(Rollin)

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