Luyện nghe bài hát Round Here

[Chorus: (Paul Wall)]
Guess it's a hood thing, woodgrain, grippin on the Friday*
My chain like the sun
Swag turned way up, maybe 'cause I'm draped up, plush
I know where y'all came from
But that's 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)
That's how we do (that's-that's how we do it here)
how we do it 'round here (that's-that's-that's-that's-that's how we do it 'round here)
how we do

[Verse 1: Wall]
Knock, knock, who is it? who come to pay a visit?
It's the Mr. Walking Blizzard, 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, Family Guy like Peter
And my wallet is stuffed like at Thanksgiving
I grind hard, my pockets full like Easter
long, my money stretchin like yoga class
"Get Money", that's my task, I'm throwed like a piece of trash
My wrists light up like camera flash commentators live in the past
But me and Koopa back on our from Antoine to Ledbetter
Got more paper than a mail shredder, 'round here we go getters

[Verse 2:
Chamillitary mayne, who knowin just how I do, so it's time to turn up your
radio play or not, they talk about me like a rumor (rumor)
And they hope my album will on the streets and come sooner (sooner)
I now renounce my throne as the 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 really mean to brag but we legends so act like you
That we one notch below and Screw but we (way higher than you)
I'm skatin, no Daytons, with Paul Wall to and (plate and)
Ya must've got us mistaken 'cause no play-action fakin (fakin)
Earthquakin, trunk (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: Wall]
'Round here the grind pays, it's all and no play
My pockets like Deltas and my Sprite's pink like AKA's
yourself, you'll be amazed, all haters can suck on these
Me and Cham back in the game, I'm Bush, he's Drew Brees
I run the mic and so throwed, now all the blogs are quite pleased
'Cause they thought we fell off dry scalp and bad weave
"Get Ya Mind Correct" please, my wrist cold winter breeze
'Cause I'm grindin up all night little kids on Christmas Eve
I keep the stacks on deck like a chair
The wristware off a glare, so when ya stare, do so with care
'Round here we one hundred but boys far from it
Everyday I'm in the paper like the comics, how we do it here