Luyện nghe bài hát Streets Disciple

Yeah, yeah,

You was born in the eighties, drove a Mercedes
Did a bid, comin' home to grown ass kid
Crack baby, turn to young thug, might fit you,
Look around it hit you, no joke, I wanna pistol fight with you
Shit comes around faster than you
Blood and white chalk makes pink, so what's that make
Become a creature of habitat, the cat
Won't see it's at, or where it's goin'

The hood for no one
I've through it from Ewings to Buicks, to body viewings
Car chases to cases, to fly vacations
wanting it all, to being the object of your admiration
Imagination is they lack
It niggaz from gettin' stacks
Feelin' on the block with loose cracks
is vital for the survival of the street's disciple

From the day you born
out, a young disciple
You had that gleam in eye
of the projects
From the day you born
Street's
Yeah, disciple of the

Moonstruck stuck, slow as molasses in my
That's of a fast spliff in the night life
In my flight jacket, heightened, mimickin' Tyson
After him cut up Razor Ruddock
In the gutter, which was once prophecy is now ghetto scripture
Lookin' back at it, blow jobs from crack addicts
Older Gods wantin' no static, told lil' niggaz they can have it
baggin' and toe-taggin'

They took Will, let me describe him, a one
I that he was the true 'God's Son', not Jesus, but fearless
His ear was up on them sounds too, hear somethin'
Not to his likin', and say, "Son bitin' you"
He got to see my debut, wild-mannered
But wild with them hammers, frontin' couldn't stand it
him off the planet, left us in 9-2
With the philosophy of what do, a true street's disciple

From the day you were
Starring out, a disciple
You had gleam in your eye
Disciple of the
the day you were born
Street's
Yeah, disciple of the

Plug the mics up, I'm ready to rock,
Reminiscing of measuring pots of Pyrex, in the kitchen
Hook to these infants, it's like my folks is still on the benches
Surrounded by and henchmen, was a killer convention
1991, son, gold on the facial, gun buck by the naval
Disciple could blaze you, we laced it with embalming
to music all this time
Fightin' 'bout how Kane and would do it

impossible to us that we could ever leave
From the block, where the world was freezin'
Hell, if I ever let them shovel me, son, in cell again, fuck these
Devil policemen, plush leathers, I need them, my freedom
Burners in bubble coats, fuck a sermon the neighborhood pope
He's ho's, old fart, he's busting ones when he stroke
Multi-colored Pelle Pelle's, stretch mark bellies
Babies born in a cycle, disciples

the day you were born
Starring out, a young
You had that gleam in eye
Disciple of the
From the day you born
Street's
Yeah, of the projects