Luyện nghe bài hát Speakers on Blast

It's not usual, the game be, all up on South shit
Straight West Coasting, you can tell by my
Red fitted, "Blood in, Blood out" shit
Empty jars, nigga, bird in the couch shit
The mad rapper, the Grouch shit
Except when I'm out of cans, I'm pulling out shit
the 4 though, double X 3-D Polo
If was the league, I'd be the motherfuckin logo
Your last shit was so-so, you should to Jermaine
I've been hard I was solo
Niggas my pain, I make it rain without the strippers
Go against the grain, and put your shit back like clippers
I bang and then I hang out at the Staples like Blake
You can I'm getting money the way that glass house is sitting
I mash out the strip like Nas when I'm dippin
like God's Son, the way that It Was Written

Them boys want they on blast
Don't me down, turn me up every time them cops pass
on the gas, am I getting high, don't even ask
Cause I got ounce up in the stash
Them boys want they on blast
Don't turn me down, turn me up every time them cops
on the gas, am I getting high, don't even ask
Cause I take 2 hits, and I pass

I see the in the rearview, why can't a motherfucker chill in the car
Feelin' like Missy, why you all up in my
must know that I got bird stashed all up in my grill
Camouflage by the Armor All while it's sparkling off my
And I fuck hoes that pray on Howard and Shaquille
Not them throwback rats be on showin' college hill
For real, I think my first album sold 5
And you say to "He's broke"
Well how the am I ballin', like Spalding
I did a couple of movies, now calling and calling
Can't get to the right now cause balls is all in this bitch mouth
When did we start taking these tricks
Now she gon' run her big and tell her girlfriend
You had her all up in the
Blowing yo on Louie Vuitton, and now that bitch is in the wind
And after the next draft, she gon' that cycle again
How you claimin' bitch when she with him?
Come again

[Big
Daddy Fat Sax, my balls are on chin, but can you tell me where my dick's at?
Come order ghetto, head hunter, head through the chit-chat
I skip to the lou, my darling bring the thunder, I'm the lightning that strikes
Motherfucker, call me mass of, cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping asses
If they disrespect the presentation, below the Mason-Dixon, we facin' the basses that were missin'
You can embrace it or come face to face with devastation
My mojo is never fadin', I'm in my Optimus Prime
it up, heat it up, speed it up, that means I'm gone
Like gears, ahead of your Buzz, Toy Story and songs
Boy, gone, the are phoning home
But I feel like a librarian, cause style's are loaned out like books
A castle full of crooks, and pillage
They'll do for money, I bet misleading the village


Not from New England, but I pack a
Not from Atlanta, but I got the
Not from Chicago, but I'm a
I'm a bay area nigga, 49er,
I'm about my man, I ain't no sucker
Now these bitch ass soft as table butter
I'm about my riches, magazines, street
You can ask uncles, daddies, mothers, and your older brothers
But I used to flee through that white
Sellin' that below the retail price
I'm a rare like the bike club, get it right
like Tori Amos, shout out to dynamite
I got my red cup, and some
What kind of green you smoking pimp? Blue
My nigga let my hit that hemp, do your thing
How woofers in your trunk? 4 15s