Luyện nghe bài hát Speakers on Blast

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

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

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

[Big
Daddy Fat Sax, my balls are on your chin, but can you 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 that strikes twice
Motherfucker, call me mass of, cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping niggas
If they disrespect the presentation, below the Mason-Dixon, we facin' the that were missin' pimpin'
You can embrace it or come face to face with devastation
My mojo is fadin', I'm in my Optimus Prime transform
Switch it up, heat it up, speed it up, that means I'm
Like gears, ahead of Buzz, Toy Story and club songs
Boy, gone, the are phoning home
But I feel like a librarian, cause style's are being' loaned out like
A castle of crooks, rape and pillage
They'll do for money, I bet misleading the village


Not from New England, but I a patriot
Not Atlanta, but I got the cater
Not Chicago, but I'm a bear
I'm a bay nigga, 49er, Raider
I'm about my bread man, I ain't no
Now these bitch ass soft as table butter
I'm my riches, magazines, street hustler
You can ask your uncles, daddies, mothers, and older brothers
But I used to flee that yellow white
Sellin' that shit the retail price
I'm a rare breed like the bike club, get it
Desperado Tori Amos, shout out to dynamite
I got my red cup, and green
What kind of green you pimp? Blue dream
My let my hit that there hemp, do your thing
How many in your trunk? 4 15s