Luyện nghe bài hát Speakers on Blast

It's not usual, the game be, all up on South shit
Straight West Coasting, you can by my outfit
Red 'nati fitted, "Blood in, out" shit
jelly jars, nigga, bird in the couch shit
The mad rapper, Oscar the shit
Except when I'm out of cans, I'm pulling out shit
Dippin' the 4 though, double X 3-D
If hip-hop was the league, I'd be the motherfuckin
Your last shit was so-so, you should to Jermaine
I've hard since I was solo
Niggas feel my pain, I make it without the strippers
Go against the grain, and put your shit like 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 house is
I mash out the then like Nas when I'm dippin
Feeling like Son, the way that It Was Written

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

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

[Big
Daddy Fat Sax, my are on your 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 of, cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping niggas asses
If they disrespect the presentation, the Mason-Dixon, we facin' the basses that were missin' pimpin'
You can embrace it or come face to face with total
My mojo is fadin', I'm in my Optimus Prime transform
Switch it up, it up, speed it up, that means I'm gone
Like gears, ahead of your Buzz, Toy and club songs
Boy, gone, the A-T-L-iens are home
But I feel a librarian, cause style's are being' loaned out like books
A castle of crooks, rape and pillage
They'll do for money, I bet misleading the village


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