Luyện nghe bài hát Smoke 50 Cent

[50
Yeah, I like the way feel
This make me just (G-G-G-G, G-Unit!)
somethin, hahaha (G-UNIT!)

[Hook: 50
you shit 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 or die nigga

Get 'em Banks!

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

Uhh, I'm on that "Doggystyle" shit, man I love 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 around if you was yo
Southside neighbor yeah that's where I come from
If you see a nigga with me then there's than one gun
Fly straight soldier, tired of bein the dumb one
Or are you satisfied bein another nigga's
We all know friendships turnin sour when you it
Some niggas hate me in the hood, but I don't owe them niggas
Smilin all up my face like I don't them niggas sick
But I can care less, I'm on the and I'm gettin rich

[Verse Two: Buck]
it and talk it, spit it how I live it nigga
Came from the country, South get it nigga
Feds try and question me, run up in my ho-tel
They said was a shootin, but they found no shells
New York City they throwin niggas under jails
I got love for dem and I even from dere
Now bust a shot for dem boys on da
I can feel your nigga, I'm still in the game nigga
There's somethin bout the sound of a
make me pull up, hop out, and make a nigga lay down
See every we 'round, you hear some shots go off
And niggas get they chains snatched they tryin to show off
in broad day, we do it the mob way
And to find out, these niggas softer than Sade'
I'mma keep livin my life with a pistol in my
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
no time for coppin a plea and cry-ing
Cause my niggas gon' stop ridin'
So you

[Verse Three: 50
I got a handgun habit, nigga front I'll let you it
the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at it
I'm allergic to the feathers on these bird-ass (yea)
and I'll put your brains on that curb fast nigga
I ain't a marksman, one spark and I shit
rounds from that H-K, I don't play bitch (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 it's
I have your pourin our liquor and lightin candles
You fuck around I blow your on my New York Times
Run home, turn to the sports and read your mind
crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bust
First there's crime scene tape, then you end up in that hearse
We don't go to funerals, but we'll go to wake fam
Do body all banged up, you made a mistake man