Luyện nghe bài hát Round Here

[Chorus: (Paul Wall)]
it's just a hood thing, woodgrain, grippin on the Friday*
My lookin like the sun
Swag turned way up, maybe 'cause I'm draped up, stay
I don't know where came from
But that's just how we do (that's-that's how we do it here)
That's how we do it 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 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? Guess who come to pay a
the Mr. Walking Blizzard, with the "here lizard, lizard"
Flyer than a of pigeons, the earlobes are vivid
But if you try to test, you'll get smoked like a
Last palace, fast livin, Family Guy like Griffin
And my is stuffed like turkeys at Thanksgiving
I grind hard, my full like Easter Mass
Paper long, my money like yoga class
"Get Money", yeah that's my task, I'm throwed like a of trash
My wrists light up like flash while commentators live in the past
But me and Koopa on our mash from Antoine to Ledbetter
Got paper than a mail 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, they about me like a rumor (rumor)
And they my album will 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, " the Don Kings of the candy blue
We don't really mean to brag but we so act like you knew
That we one below Pimp and Screw but we (way higher than you)
I'm skatin, no Daytons, Paul Wall to plate and (plate and)
Ya got us mistaken 'cause 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, be like As-Salamu Alaykum, so vacant

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