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 no roots to a bye-bye
of motherfuckers spitting nothing but drama rhymes
Flapping his lips, and ain't never squeezed a
Try to with me fool, you ain't competitive
claiming my town, before I give your ass a sedative
Haymaker and uppercuts, hey nigga you weak as
I'm hitting Tyson, so fool what's up?
You and your boys, you pop a whole lot of shit
Yelling "Pooh-Man is flapping" but he's fucking your
Getting ganked by your manager, did for your
what you get with your uneducated ass
Pooh's the pistol-toting, dank-smoking,
player from Oakland
I was by O.G.'s fool, what you stressing?
AK's, Mac fool, Smith & Wessons
You got the audacity to false claim you be
R.I.P. to
You wanna be down with my town but my ain't down with ya clown
So studio gangster put motherfucking mic down
I'm coming for ass, nigga, you're outta pocket
Squeeze the trigger, eight ball in the pocket

A lotta stories circulating town
Seems my peers in this try to put me down
He this, she said that
But you know where they talking fool: behind my back
Never had the to step up
And my fans know that I can a rhyme and change the flow
of a realist, cause I stay as real as this
And all those other brothers can do is make a
Huh, so I to kiss they ass
I got something better, (gunshots)
and more I find myself in the media
Or on the screen for New Line Cinema
Yeah, lips are flapping but my bank is still stacking
'93 and I out to do nothing but keep taxing
bitch, you slimy-ass worm
When will you learn you only get what the you earn?
I'm from the town of the motherfucking
Even my bitch a big black gat, huh
So all the you doing gets you nowhere, player
The "Peace to My Nine" I just couldn't bear
Here's my glock, listen to me it
The is pulled, it's eight ball in the corner pocket

I'm getting of my name used in a bad way
Even though I ain't around, these got something to say
Claim I'm a thug, I sell ficticious
Man I'm telling you, these lies be
And these motherfuckers be all in my face
'93 I got the pop, and all want 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 and my sensor alarm
And I go crazy and take his fucking head off
For all in my fucking mix
You motherfucking ass hoe-trusting bitch
Yeah partner pump you up, you throw your chest in the air
And you got the nerves to badmouth a player
If I was you I'd shut my mouth
Before my partner Little E blow motherfucking head off
You want funk nigga, well you got it
It's like eight to the corner pocket