Luyện nghe bài hát Sticky Icky

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

[I got sticky-icky...blue bonic chronic for yo shizzle nizzle...
In yo' grizzle. fo'sheezaayy...
I got that sticky-icky...blue 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 closed, let the smoke go everywhere
45 on the freeway, nigga le-way
Higher then a kite while I'm through the alley
Pass me a black and white, But that's my boy cause me and his kids is
And the weed is lime-green, betta catch it a chronic seed
And it was callin me...oh yeah. I wait 'til this shit's in the air
everywhere...
I hail...a bitty nigga that was sellin the rocks on the Clair
And the devil is here...and he your soul. To rot with his in hell, hell...
Then again they could put a nigga in jail...when I'm tryna get by
But I use to sell...and now I leave it alone I'm doin well, well..
I never out!
I can do what I wanna. My baby want money. I never hold out!
Hey, bitch up. And try to leave me all thawed-ed out
Man, I'ma be fucked up. No doubt! I'm up...

2:
Rap and the crack, and the dice, like I get on bracklin'
And it'll be the Dope Man. And that sold crack
And crack man...humiliation to the black man, man...
My momma smoke weed, my daddy smoke
Hell, we all weed...
So I'm havin my fun, so give me me need, baaby
I like ta got up in "High Times", I even gotta for my nigga "0-9-9"
Dail for the chron, nigga, don't let the cops
I'll be runnin wit mine, like we got rock
Feelin fine, and my already runnin
I get the drama and it's 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 nigga, you already 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, blessed in the rythm I got to get
And full of adrenaline...in your...mellinium...full of my
I'll be in the back wit titenium..."damn, that's the I'm smokin'"
Weed got a mothafucka thinkinn...Yeah. Up, jumped in the cab and rushed, but B 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 wanting to ya bidness there, yellow man."
Man fuck you nigga! nigga to the hood, dawg. I got the weed and I'ma break the bread, yeah...uh...
On the freeway coasting like we was a limo. Fuck that.
Windows was tinted. It's me and like Sizzler-crush grass.
'Til it finished, we puffed and pass (give it back!)
And Im still on point, I got my mind on the hour
"Ey, why the fuck you not driving Hurry up, I got ass-to-mash.
And I'm there.