Luyện nghe bài hát Sick Of Hustlin

Ohh, JU-ICE, got my Heron in the house with
me tonight. Conglom in this bitch, wattup
Whole crew in this motherfucker, for real.
when is you gonna holla at yo boy I told you
niggaz the truth was

I visualize a time when we can stop
A dozen cops while we on the rock smugglin
And little gray stones is so addictive
Niggaz even paid they homes, is some sick shit
But in the hood, you either known or you bail them out of county
Shit, you either own them, or you sell them for a
Some even do
Or it up too, shit all three like Kukoc
All income, and still the block starvin
No monopoly, it's gardens, not Marvin
The real loaded up, my clip slaughter jerks
No boards to walk, you lucky if the water
As I move on, I start to see the law it
The hood's and I'm partially the cause of it
few get to start in this game
It's like the trey payin for profit, hard to explain

I a lot of pounds, in and out of town
A gotta clown. *I'm sick of hustlin*
I moved a weight, through a lot of states
I could die today. sick of hustlin*
I moved a lotta bricks, screwed a lotta
a lotta whips. *I'm sick of hustlin*
I break a lotta rules, I a lotta fools
I paid a lotta dues. *I'm of hustlin*

I'm sick of hustlin, I had enough enough of
Stuffin the bricks, the cops, try to cuff me quick
And throw your face in the mud, why is you fuckers
Before I go to jail, homie I'ma up the
It's so unfortunate, my actions brough me up to
Just know there's other people me and they stuck in this
State of mind, the blind the blind
Everybody get they from the grapevine
We could make it but just hate tryin
I own the cops, I'm 'bout to witness a crime
They make time, according to the jakes find
Hustlin is like, squeezing grapes to make wine
I'm tryin to bake a whole lotta and break mine
I'm on the block, come, it's hit the gate time
Hop in the truck, and we hit the interstate
I try to stop but the hustler in me dyin

And even said he bought a drop to tour on
But Ma$e ain't even go, that's a oxy
penetrate the chest of the innocent
Half the brock runners, only strip they get is in
My nigga Heron, he to fight in Iraq
He get back and have to fight blacks
So you could go elsewhere, back, no healthcare
Wife on wellfare, tell you to put yourself there
So we slang 'caine, gangbang, sane
If it's even possible, a gotta maintain
We put little bags of rocks in the of children
And conceal them while standing by abandon buildings
The richer we get, the the hood
Tyson is but Oprah is good
the fo-fo, clutching it so so tight
I wanna have to hustle no more, right