Luyện nghe bài hát Smoke 50 Cent

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

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

Get 'em Banks!

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

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

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

[Interlude:
We got the
So make one wrong and you're dy-ing
Ain't no for coppin a plea and cry-ing
Cause my niggas ain't stop ridin'
So you

[Verse Three: 50
I got a handgun habit, front I'll let you have it
When the shots go off, cops sayin 50 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 spray
Nuff rounds from H-K, I don't play bitch (uh-huh)
Move like I'm militant, back on gorilla shit
Moody, disrespectful, unruly, but can't move me (yea)
I squeeze 'til I run out of ammo, if a problem it's handled
I have your people pourin our liquor and candles
You fuck around I your brains on my New York Times
Run home, turn to the section and read your mind
It's crystal clear, you should feel that gat bust
First crime scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse
We don't go to funerals, but go to your wake fam
Do body all banged up, you made a mistake man