Luyện nghe bài hát Smoke 50 Cent

[50
Yeah, I like the way this
make me wanna just (G-G-G-G, G-Unit!)
Buck somethin, (G-UNIT!)

[Hook: 50
Nigga you on me, I shit on you
You put a hit on me, I put a hit on you
An eye for an eye
Survive the shots or die

Get 'em Banks!

[Verse One: Lloyd - singing]
They hold me
I'm Lloyd Banks the one and
Not your buddy, not your pal, not your
But ain't a around that can control me
Oh no!!!

Uhh, I'm on that "Doggystyle" shit, man I don't a ho
Poppa 'round, so I had to let my brother know
Never stay at center, the back and let your money grow
Most them niggas wouldn't be if you was bummy yo
Jamaica neighbor yeah that's where I come from
If you see a nigga me then there's more than one gun
Fly straight soldier, ain'tcha tired of bein the one
Or are you satisfied another nigga's Dun-Dunn
We all know turnin sour when you gettin it
Some niggas hate me in the hood, but I owe them niggas shit
Smilin all up my face like I don't know them niggas
But I can care less, I'm on the and I'm gettin rich

[Verse Two: Young
Walk it and talk it, spit it how I live it
from the country, Dirty South get it nigga
Feds try and me, they run up in my ho-tel
They there was a shootin, but they found no shells
New City hell they throwin niggas under jails
I got love for dem and I ain't from dere
Now bust a for dem boys on da block
I can feel your pain nigga, I'm still in the game
There's bout the sound of a trey-pound
That me pull up, hop out, and make a nigga lay down
See every time we 'round, you hear some go off
And niggas get they snatched when they tryin to show off
in broad day, we do it the mob way
And come to find out, these softer than Sade'
I'mma keep my life with a pistol in my palm
And a wrist of ice, you can call me a Don motherfucker

singing]
We got the
So one wrong move and you're dy-ing
Ain't no time for a plea and cry-ing
Cause my niggas ain't gon' ridin'
So you

[Verse 50 Cent]
I got a habit, nigga front I'll let you have it
When the go off, cops sayin 50 back at it
I'm allergic to the feathers on bird-ass niggas (yea)
Front and I'll put your brains on curb fast nigga
I ain't a marksman, one spark and I shit
Nuff rounds from that H-K, I don't play (uh-huh)
Move like I'm militant, back on that shit
Moody, disrespectful, unruly, but can't move me (yea)
I squeeze 'til I run out of ammo, if it's a problem handled
I have your people pourin our liquor and candles
You fuck I blow your brains on my New York Times
Run home, turn to the sports section and read your
It's crystal clear, you should feel when gat bust
First there's scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse
We don't go to funerals, but go to your wake fam
Do your all banged up, you made a mistake man