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, out" shit
Empty jelly jars, nigga, in the couch shit
The mad rapper, the Grouch shit
Except when I'm out of cans, I'm pulling out shit
Dippin' the 4 though, X 3-D Polo
If was the league, I'd be the motherfuckin logo
Your last was so-so, you should sign to Jermaine
I've been hard since I was
Niggas feel my pain, I make it without the strippers
Go the grain, and put your shit back like some clippers
I bang and then I out at the Staples like Blake Griffin
You can tell I'm getting the way that glass house is sitting
I mash out the strip then Nas when I'm dippin
Feeling God's Son, the way that It Was Written

Them boys want music on blast
Don't me down, turn me up every time them cops pass
Mashed on the gas, am I getting high, don't ask
Cause I got another up in the stash
Them want they music on blast
Don't turn me down, turn me up time them cops pass
Mashed on the gas, am I high, don't even ask
Cause I take 2 hits, and 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 must know that I got bird stashed all up in my
Camouflage by the Armor All it's sparkling off my wheels
And I fuck hoes that pray on Dwight Howard and
Not them throwback rats they be on college hill
For real, I think my first sold 5 mil'
And you say to "He's broke"
how the hell am I ballin', like Spalding
I did a of movies, now agents calling and calling
Can't get to the phone now cause balls is all in this bitch mouth
When did we start these tricks out?
Now she run her big mouth 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' that bitch when she him?
Come cause

[Big
Daddy Fat Sax, my are on your chin, but can you tell me where my dick's at?
Come ghetto, head hunter, head buster through the chit-chat
I skip to the lou, my darling the thunder, I'm the lightning that strikes twice
Motherfucker, call me mass of, cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping niggas
If they the presentation, below the Mason-Dixon, we facin' the basses that were missin' pimpin'
You can embrace it or come to face with total 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, of your Buzz, Toy Story and club songs
Boy, gone, the are phoning home
But I like a librarian, cause style's are being' loaned out like books
A castle full of crooks, and pillage
They'll do for money, I bet misleading the village


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