Luyện nghe bài hát Sticky Icky

I got sticky-icky... (3 x's)
I got that sticky-icky...blue bonic for yo grizzle nizzle...
Fa'shizzle. fo'sheezaayy!

[I got that sticky-icky...blue bonic for yo shizzle nizzle...
In yo' grizzle. fo'sheezaayy...
I got sticky-icky...blue bonic chronic for yo grizzle nizzle...
Fa'shizzle. fo'sheezaayy!

1:
OOH WEE! Nigga got good sticky weed! Get it in a swisher,
it to my nigga. Mothafucka better pick up a gun, you better prepare
Got my eyes closed, let the smoke go
45 on the freeway, gimme le-way
Higher then a while I'm rollin through the alley
Pass me a black and white, But that's my boy cause me and his is tight
And the weed is lime-green, betta catch it from a seed
And it was callin me...oh yeah. I can't wait 'til this in the air
everywhere...
I hail...a little bitty nigga was sellin the rocks on the Clair
And the is here...and he wants your soul. To rot with his in hell, hell...
Then again they could put a in jail...when I'm just tryna get by
But I use to sell...and now I it alone 'cause I'm doin well, well..
I never out!
I can do I wanna. My baby momma want money. I never hold out!
Hey, bitch hold up. And try to me all thawed-ed out
Man, I'ma be up. No doubt! I'm blowin up...

2:
Rap and the crack, and the dice, like when I get on
And it'll be the Dope Man. And that nigga sold
And crack man...humiliation to the man, black man...
My momma smoke weed, my daddy weed
Hell, we all weed...
So I'm havin my fun, so give me me need, baaby
I ta got up in "High Times", I even gotta dail for my nigga "0-9-9"
Dail for the chron, nigga, let the cops come
'cause be runnin wit mine, like we got rock
fine, and my heart's already runnin
I get the drama and steady comin, a c'mon...
(Inhales) "What you do?" "It's on you, wayy...all day everyday" hey...
Fuck! do shit. Got thangs to do
A nigga really got kids and bills, wit the
I'ma pay them nigga, you knew-baby baller I call all my trues
"How does it relate to weed?" "Fuck the weed! Relate to me. The real with the T.H.C.
And no G.H.B...these are the days. Roll me a sweet! A-c'mon! A-c'mon!

I'm up... (8 x's)
(Chronic, chronic, chronic...)

3:
I'm ready for the war...still got to let the weed cure
Watch for the women with STD sores, in the rythm I got to get soar
And of adrenaline...in your...mellinium...full of my drink
I'll be in the back wit titenium..."damn, that's the I'm smokin'"
Weed got a thinkinn...Yeah. Up, jumped in the cab and rushed, but B cant catch the bus. I'm goin to see my broad. And fuck y'all niggaz, I'm in love. Ain't nobody finna stop me, dawg...
"What's with the dreads? You might be to mind ya bidness there, yellow man."
Man fuck you nigga! Young nigga to the hood, dawg. I got the weed and I'ma the bread, yeah...uh...
On the freeway like we was riding a limo. Fuck that.
Windows was tinted. It's me and it's like grass.
it finished, we puffed puffed and pass (give it back!)
And Im still on point, I got my on the hour glass
"Ey, why the fuck you not driving fast? up, I got ass-to-mash.
And I'm there.