Luyện nghe bài hát Round Here

[Chorus: (Paul Wall)]
Guess it's a hood thing, woodgrain, grippin on the Friday*
My chain lookin the sun
Swag way up, maybe 'cause I'm draped up, stay plush
I don't know where came from
But just how we do (that's-that's how we do it 'round here)
That's how we do it 'round here (that's-that's how we do it here)
how we do (that's-that's how we do it 'round here)
That's how we do it 'round here (that's-that's-that's-that's-that's how we do it here)
how we do

[Verse 1: Wall]
Knock, knock, who is it? Guess who come to pay a
It's the Mr. Blizzard, with the "here lizard, lizard"
Flyer than a flock of pigeons, the are vivid
But if you try to test, you'll get smoked a brisket
Last palace, fast livin, Guy like Peter Griffin
And my wallet is stuffed like turkeys at
I grind hard, my pockets full Easter Mass
long, my money stretchin like yoga class
"Get Money", yeah my task, I'm throwed like a piece of trash
My wrists up like camera flash while commentators live in the past
But me and Koopa back on our mash from to Ledbetter
Got more paper a mail shredder, 'cause 'round here we go getters

[Verse 2:
Chamillitary mayne, who knowin just how I do, so it's to turn up your tuner
With radio play or not, they about me like a rumor (rumor)
And they my album will leak on the streets and come sooner (sooner)
I now my throne as the King of Zamunda
Hollywood, not true, been sick,
The inventors of the "what it do, " where the Don of the candy blue
We don't really mean to brag but we legends so act like you
That we one notch below Pimp and but we (way higher than you)
I'm skatin, no Daytons, with Paul Wall to and (plate and)
Ya must've got us 'cause ain't no play-action fakin (fakin)
Earthquakin, shakin (shakin), the realest in my state and (say what?)
The treat me like I'm God, be like As-Salamu Alaykum, so vacant

[Verse 3: Paul
'Round here the pays, it's all work and no play
My pockets thick like Deltas and my Sprite's pink AKA's
Brace yourself, you'll be amazed, all haters can suck on
Me and Cham back in the game, I'm Reggie Bush, he's Brees
I run the mic and he's so throwed, now all the blogs are quite
they thought we fell off like dry scalp and bad weave
"Get Ya Mind Correct" please, my cold like winter breeze
'Cause I'm grindin up all night little kids on Christmas Eve
I keep the stacks on like a lawn chair
The wristware give off a glare, so when ya stare, do so with
'Round here we one hundred but them boys far it
Everyday I'm in the paper like the comics, how we do it here