Luyện nghe bài hát Studio Gangster

"I've you on the street" "Where you from?" "From Oakland"
"Nah, not from Oakland, I know Oakland"

Let's take a with the boy from the Eastside
Where nothing's a crime no to a bye-bye
Tired of motherfuckers spitting but drama rhymes
his lips, and ain't never squeezed a nine
Try to compete with me fool, you ain't
Stop claiming my town, I give your ass a sedative
Haymaker and uppercuts, hey you weak as fuck
I'm hitting Tyson, so fool what's up?
You and your boys, you pop a whole lot of shit
"Pooh-Man is flapping" but he's fucking your bitch
Getting by your manager, did for your cash
That's what you get with uneducated ass
the pistol-toting, dank-smoking, bitch-choking
Young player Oakland
I was taught by O.G.'s fool, you stressing?
AK's, Mac 12's fool, Smith &
You got the audacity to claim where you be
R.I.P. to
You wanna be down my town but my town ain't down with ya clown
So studio gangster put your mic down
I'm coming for your ass, nigga, you're outta
Squeeze the trigger, eight in the corner pocket

A stories circulating round town
my peers in this business try to put me down
He this, she said that
But you know where they talking that fool: my back
Never had the guts to up
And my fans know I can take a rhyme and change the flow
Somewhat of a realist, cause I stay as as this
And all those other brothers can do is a wish
Huh, so I refuse to they ass
I got something better, (gunshots)
and more I find myself in the media
Or maybe on the screen for New Line
Yeah, lips are flapping but my bank is still stacking
'93 and I out to do nothing but keep taxing
Punk-ass bitch, you slimy-ass
will you learn you only get what the fuck you earn?
I'm the town of the motherfucking Mack
my bitch draws a big black gat, huh
So all the talking you doing gets you nowhere,
The "Peace to My Nine" bullshit I couldn't bear
my glock, listen to me cock it
The trigger is pulled, it's eight ball in the corner

I'm getting tired of my name in a bad way
Even though I ain't around, these got something to say
I'm a thug, I sell drug ficticious
Man I'm you, these lies be vicious
And these same motherfuckers be all in my
'93 I got the pop, and they all a taste
You see I'm out to get richer, in more cash
Pooh be coming in first with these coming in last
So I take my and my sensor alarm
And I straight go and take his fucking head off
For being all in my mix
You motherfucking ass hoe-trusting bitch
Yeah your partner pump you up, you your chest in the air
And then you got the nerves to badmouth a
If I was you I'd my motherfucking mouth
Before my partner Little E blow motherfucking head off
You some funk nigga, well you got it
like eight ball to the corner pocket