Luyện nghe bài hát Sicc & High

Brotha
(Talking)
man, ya know, I was trying to tell you nigga man,
that nigga was trippin out man. I did all of shit,
for him and shit, and I help that outa bad situations, you know?
Cuz was trippin man, I was man.
Still was talking shit nigga, ass songs about me and shit, you know.
Man, so I gotta hit him

Nigga you tha, of comedy,
and Ima be g what Ima be.
Let you see that at close range,
I tap you with the bang, wrap you up in cellophane (sphhhh).
be the endin, no pretendin,
siccmade and high side crash?, do a drive by em.
Do or die by in em, get in em, any time, any where.
Cut the lane like Chris Webber.
Better get it together nigga, I toughen up leather with a,
touch, you in the neck, get my respect, you muthafuckin bet.
Might as well not sweat when I put flames to your set,
and leave you, smokey robinson.
My weigh 24 tons, and I got them,
niggas on rum in em, and those 221s, you this done.
why I pack my gun,
cause when you tappin into gangsta shit you gotta pack yo gun.
Some niggas gon shoot, niggas gon run.
Its all mathematical, bet off and get tragical?,
holding out the roam with the metal thangs,
to do that thang, you know, cellophane.
To hit them thangs,
smash off in the cup where you get hedikane?
You watch that bring, black bags and gloves.
I gotta be thug (why?), I made that decision a time ago.
40s in plash? dominoes,
goin through with hoes, you know how it goes.
I aint been doin no shows, aint been on no toes.
But the p11 9mm ruben (whats that?), is the I chose.
I dont much cause Im clutch like shaq diesel,
and I love the way the ruben make people.
Catch em comin out the steeple,
he did my people.
You know, paybacks to the degree,
and Im walkin to my funeral, so it aint no hearsin me.

Bouncin off to the turf, is A-Blocc,
Im posted pushin yayrocks?, to see right these niggas character.
They blasted like the glock, neighborhood watch lookin,
but I keep jookin, shit I where Pablo gots his birdies cookin.
I crook em.
See the plots to get quicker, make my feddy thicker,
perkin off the liquors, pass pen, triggas get clutched.
I get my man, MOB, thats money over bitches,
six rags with switches, got the feds takin pictures,
half half dope, invested my ism, is some pimp, hes upset with a hoe.
And made her hump till my pockets got the mumps like
Ask the bitch, she said, oh hes a fuckin cody.
So D, pistols from fake IDs.
I put in shady niggas, left them eatin through our piece.
Roll dese through the ghetto, vogues like indo.
High speed chases throwin out the window.
Im wanted by the task, and ass niggas gun blast,
and all I wanted was the cash.
Shit its like Im hunted but I get blunted rollin through the set.
Ima do my thing for now though, cause they killed me yet,
and if I die then I die, shit, dont even a tear.
Im off where Im goin man, cause I aint happy here.
Got no fear, shit, them niggas bruise I bruise,
lose screws? I do, nigga, choose how you choose nigga, ooh!