Luyện nghe bài hát Round Here

[Chorus: (Paul Wall)]
Guess it's just a thing, woodgrain, grippin on the Friday*
My chain like the sun
Swag turned way up, maybe 'cause I'm draped up, stay
I don't know where y'all came
But that's how we do (that's-that's how we do it 'round here)
how we do it 'round here (that's-that's how we do it 'round here)
That's how we do (that's-that's how we do it 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? who come to pay a visit?
the Mr. Walking Blizzard, with the "here lizard, lizard"
Flyer than a flock of pigeons, the earlobes are
But if you try to test, get smoked like a brisket
Last palace, fast livin, Family Guy Peter Griffin
And my wallet is like turkeys at Thanksgiving
I grind hard, my pockets full like Easter
Paper long, my stretchin like yoga class
"Get Money", yeah that's my task, I'm throwed like a piece of
My wrists light up like camera while commentators live in the past
But me and Koopa back on our mash from Antoine to
Got more paper than a shredder, 'cause 'round here we go getters

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

[Verse 3: Wall]
'Round here the grind pays, it's all 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 Drew
I run the mic and he's so throwed, now all the blogs are quite
'Cause thought we fell off like dry scalp and bad weave
"Get Ya Mind Correct" please, my wrist cold like breeze
I'm grindin up all night like little kids on Christmas Eve
I keep the stacks on deck a lawn chair
The wristware give off a glare, so when ya stare, do so with
here we one hundred but them boys far from it
Everyday I'm in the paper like the comics, how we do it here