Luyện nghe bài hát Streets Disciple

Yeah, yeah,

You was born in the eighties, pops drove a
Did a bid, comin' home to some ass kid
Crack baby, turn to young thug, description 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 that make you?
Become a of habitat, the average cat
Won't see it's at, or where it's goin'

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

the day you were born
Starring out, a young
You had that in your eye
Disciple of the
From the day you were
disciple
Yeah, disciple of the

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

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

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

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

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

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