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, plush
I don't know where y'all came
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: Paul
Knock, knock, who is it? Guess who come to pay a
the Mr. Walking Blizzard, with the "here lizard, lizard"
Flyer than a flock of pigeons, the are vivid
But if you try to test, get smoked like a brisket
Last palace, livin, Family Guy like Peter Griffin
And my wallet is like turkeys at Thanksgiving
I grind hard, my full like Easter Mass
Paper long, my money stretchin like yoga
"Get Money", yeah that's my task, I'm like a piece of trash
My wrists light up like flash while 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:
mayne, who knowin 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 renounce my throne as the of Zamunda
Hollywood, not true, sick, ah-choo
The inventors of the "what it do, " where the Don Kings of the candy
We really 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 Wall to plate and (plate and)
Ya must've got us mistaken ain't no play-action fakin (fakin)
Earthquakin, trunk (shakin), the realest in my state and (say what?)
The treat me like I'm God, they be like As-Salamu Alaykum, so

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