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
nothing's a crime no roots to a bye-bye
Tired of motherfuckers spitting but drama rhymes
Flapping his lips, and never squeezed a nine
Try to with me fool, you ain't competitive
Stop claiming my town, before I your ass a sedative
Haymaker and uppercuts, hey nigga you weak as
I'm like Tyson, so fool what's up?
You and your boys, you pop a whole lot of weak
Yelling "Pooh-Man is flapping" but he's your bitch
ganked by your manager, did for your cash
That's what you get your uneducated ass
Pooh's the pistol-toting, dank-smoking,
Young player Oakland
I was by O.G.'s fool, what you stressing?
AK's, Mac 12's fool, & Wessons
You got the audacity to false 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 motherfucking mic
I'm coming for ass, nigga, you're outta pocket
Squeeze the trigger, eight in the corner pocket

A lotta circulating round town
Seems my peers in business try to put me down
He this, she said that
But you know where talking that fool: behind my back
had the guts to step up
And my know that I can take a rhyme and change the flow
Somewhat of a realist, cause I as real as this
And all those brothers can do is make a wish
Huh, so I refuse to kiss ass
I got something better, (gunshots)
More and more I find in the media
Or maybe on the screen for New Cinema
Yeah, your lips are but my bank is still stacking
'93 and I ain't out to do nothing but keep
Punk-ass bitch, you slimy-ass
When will you learn you only get what the fuck you
I'm from the town of the motherfucking
Even my draws a big black gat, huh
So all the talking you doing gets you nowhere,
The "Peace to My Nine" bullshit I just couldn't
Here's my glock, listen to me it
The trigger is pulled, eight ball in the corner pocket

I'm tired of my name used in a bad way
Even though I around, these fools got something to say
I'm a thug, I sell drug ficticious
Man I'm telling you, these 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 niggas in last
So I take my nine and my sensor
And I straight go and take his fucking head off
For all in my fucking mix
You punk motherfucking ass hoe-trusting
Yeah your pump you up, you throw your chest in the air
And then you got the nerves to badmouth a
If I was you I'd shut my motherfucking
my partner Little E blow your motherfucking head off
You want funk nigga, well you got it
It's like eight to the corner pocket