Luyện nghe bài hát Smoke 50 Cent

[50
Yeah, I like the way feel
This me wanna just (G-G-G-G, G-Unit!)
Buck somethin, (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 shots or die

Get 'em Banks!

[Verse One: Banks - singing]
They hold me
I'm Lloyd Banks the one and
Not your buddy, not your pal, not your
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 be around if you was bummy yo
Southside neighbor yeah that's where I come from
If you see a nigga with me there's more than one gun
Fly straight soldier, ain'tcha tired of the dumb one
Or are you satisfied another nigga's Dun-Dunn
We all know friendships turnin sour you gettin it
Some niggas me in the hood, but I don't owe them niggas shit
all up my face like I don't know them niggas sick
But I can care less, I'm on the Island and I'm rich

[Verse Two: Young
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 hell they throwin niggas under jails
I got love for dem and I ain't even from
Now bust a shot for dem on da block
I can feel pain nigga, I'm still in the game nigga
somethin bout the sound of a trey-pound
That make me pull up, hop out, and a nigga lay down
See every time we 'round, you hear shots go off
And niggas get they chains when they tryin to show off
Shootouts in day, we do it the mob way
And to find out, these niggas 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 make one wrong move and dy-ing
no time for coppin a plea and cry-ing
Cause my niggas ain't stop ridin'
So you

[Verse Three: 50
I got a handgun habit, nigga front I'll let you it
When the shots go off, cops 50 back at it
I'm allergic to the feathers on these niggas (yea)
and I'll put your brains on that 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 it's a it's handled
I have your people pourin our liquor and candles
You fuck around I blow brains on my New York Times
Run home, turn to the sports section and read your
It's crystal clear, you feel when that gat bust
First there's scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse
We go to funerals, but we'll go to your wake fam
Do body all banged up, you made a mistake man