Luyện nghe bài hát Rollin'

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

Why, must I be that? Why, must I pack the gat?
On my left, niggaz be rollin the ruckus
Ready to get deep bust rounds upon suckaz
Heard PPP and LOD is a bunch of motherfuckers
Journey to the is on
The winner of the spittin bomb
The fuck you up lyrathon, whatever you
prepare to that title
Turnin vital situations suicidal, my idols, is my
who started smokin outta bibles
Gave me a puff when I my first rifle
cycles, I give bitches
Bring your craziest nigga, give stitches
Whateva, go crew for crew, for blow
Bang 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 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 crew's off
Yeah, more sneaky than casino
Diggin ditches for all bitches
Clockin figures, I'm gettin out diggers
Now my of truck is a Land
cause a Landcruise much
It two to three more niggaz
Damn I a golddigger
Yeah, that microphone
I opponents shit bricks like Tyson's home
I keep the cellular phone blown in three zones
Love and keep my nine millimis chrome
So it can shine up dome
When I proceed to give you what you need and clear spots Sea Breeze
Wreckin your ass style
Twenty four seven
My crew chin check profile
(Rollin)

I'm the master of disaster, super rhyme
Grimy by nature, database
em out like Sega, Saturn
Blow your blocks in for about nine acres
Testes, crew bulletproof and double S's
Karl Kani down, camoflouge can't hide the
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 bones outta 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 from your battlefield son, fuck Pat Benatar
Run, for the hills
in the day, these niggaz rolled up on me with
the trunk filled with Bomber Brooklyns, sheeps and
Aiyyo take that shit, aiyyo Money the grill
Body caught chills as he ate this mil
Mine kills two but my nine was sealed
And to deliver, but Money had me too close
to for toast, soon as that nigga blink I broke ghost
Dash back to South Ave with dollar bill to smoke dope
I keep em