Luyện nghe bài hát Stack It to the Ceiling

Ever since I woke up this morning, I've on
the cap up off my weed jar, and smoked a cone
Took a shower and got gone in the wind, like Wynn
I'm from the streets of California where we be and grittin'
Gettin' that women, and mackin', droppin' and stackin'
Wheelin' and dealin' and makin' a trying to hit a million
Perkin' and and drinkin' and chillin' in front of the apartment building
Packin' and totin' and the lean oh what a feelin'
He's a fraudulent, I'm
He a simp, he a sap, he
I'm a boss, I'm a factor, I'm a percent
I'm a hustler Larry Flynt
Getting my habit, I stay in the traffic
Papered up a tablet, my bankroll is massive
If I walked in a loser, I'm gonna walk out a winner
I ball like a man, papered up like a printer
I wrapped too tight, I'm touched, I'm throwed
Mental health, argue with my cursin' out myself
My got a psychologist, neurologist too
I'm one of one, I'm not you

Act you know
and bobbin' and weavin'
In and out of traffic, from the to the evening
Trying to get my right, my nigga
it to the ceiling

Act you know
Dippin' and and weavin'
In and out of traffic, the morning to the evening
Trying to get my paper right, my
Stack it to the

and blowing on some good bud
Smokin' on a you never heard of
shit, I got it from my plugs
You my weed on my rug
twenty pushups, that's a party foul
You can do 'em or do 'em now
I allow (who?)
Aliens around me, a no-no
They'll try to sneak me and turn my brains adobo
see me solo, if you do I'm not
Best E-40 with his .45 Glock
I'm ADHD, something to calm my nerves
You libel to find me at my kid's teacher's smellin' like herb
I stay plastered, but I'm all my paper
aroma, that's me in the elevator
More than Auto Trader, that's what I got
Driveway, looks a car lot
My is stronger than my bark
you thought, heart
Bitch you of shit like a dog park
ass poodle, square as a cubicle
Weirdo,
Why do suckas, be all in a one's business?
While these sideline niggas be always to count a hustler's chizznips
Flappin' their lizznips like some bitches, man they
Dudes be running their mouth that, we call 'em quack-quacks
That's how a bitch gets
in the naps, clapped
Head put on flap, Fix-a-Flat can't even 'em back (bitch)

Act like you
Dippin' and bobbin and
In and out of traffic, the morning to the evening
Trying to get my paper right, my
it to the ceiling

Act you know
and bobbin and weavin'
In and out of traffic, the morning to the evening
Trying to get my paper right, my
it to the ceiling

...to the