Luyện nghe bài hát Rollin'

Nineteen ninety fuckin six
That's shit though
Get the motherfuckin packed
We got to pull these shoes out like carpet, is bond
Test the crew with the and let's get this shit on

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

Ask man
How ugly do you have to be to be a MC?
be fooled by my plaques and my light skin complexture
My whole texture is bombin, destroyin da of the wack
the Land of the Lost, you get tossed
Listen to my veloc(ity), my comin off
Yeah, more sneaky than switches
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 three niggaz
I hate a golddigger
Yeah, that microphone
I make opponents bricks like Tyson's home
I the jacked cellular phone blown in three zones
Love seafood and keep my millimis chrome
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 seven while
My crew chin check profile
(Rollin)

I'm the master of disaster, super maker
Grimy by nature, database
Play em out Sega, Saturn
Blow your blocks in patterns for about nine
Testes, crew bulletproof and double S's
Karl Kani down, can't hide the sounds
of a fo' (boo-yaa)
Givin you Six Flags, bustin go rounds
But my crew stay ill with that unreal
I be the raw water, my bones outta have gills
below like the
Smooth on the trigger for all you cockers
I be the key to
Blast and rotate at three buck sixty
me, as your Senator
Take the dove from your battlefield son, fuck Pat
Run, head for the
Back in the day, these rolled up on me with
the trunk filled with Bomber Brooklyns, sheeps and
Aiyyo that shit, aiyyo Money snap the grill
Body caught 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 back to Orange Ave with dollar bill to smoke dope
I em rollin