Luyện nghe bài hát Speakers on Blast

It's not usual, the be, all up on some South shit
Straight Coasting, you can tell by my outfit
Red fitted, "Blood in, Blood out" shit
Empty jelly jars, nigga, bird in the shit
The mad rapper, Oscar the Grouch
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 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 against the grain, and put shit back like some clippers
I and then I hang 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 then Nas when I'm dippin
Feeling like God's Son, the way that It Was

Them boys want they music on
Don't turn me down, turn me up time them cops pass
Mashed on the gas, am I getting high, don't ask
I got another ounce up in the stash
Them boys want they music on
turn me down, turn me up every time them cops pass
Mashed on the gas, am I high, don't even ask
Cause I 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 know that I got bird stashed all up in my grill
Camouflage by the All while it's sparkling off my wheels
And I fuck hoes that pray on Dwight Howard and
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 am I ballin', like Spalding
I did a of movies, now agents calling and calling
Can't get to the phone right now balls is all in this bitch mouth
did we start taking these tricks out?
Now she gon' run her big mouth and her girlfriend
You had her all up in the
Blowing yo cheese on Louie Vuitton, and now bitch is in the wind
And after the next draft, she start that cycle again
How you claimin' bitch when she with him?
Come cause

[Big
Fat Sax, my balls 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 the thunder, I'm the lightning that strikes twice
Motherfucker, call me of, cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping niggas asses
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 total
My mojo is never fadin', I'm in my Optimus transform
Switch it up, heat it up, speed it up, that I'm gone
Like gears, of your Buzz, Toy Story and club songs
Boy, gone, the A-T-L-iens are phoning
But I feel like a librarian, cause style's are being' loaned out like
A castle full of crooks, and pillage
They'll do anything for money, I bet misleading the


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