Luyện nghe bài hát Studio Gangster

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

Let's take a ride with the boy from the
Where nothing's a crime no roots to a
of motherfuckers spitting nothing but drama rhymes
Flapping his lips, and ain't squeezed a nine
Try to compete with me fool, you competitive
Stop my town, before I give your ass a sedative
and uppercuts, hey nigga you weak as fuck
I'm hitting like Tyson, so what's up?
You and your boys, you pop a lot of weak shit
Yelling "Pooh-Man is flapping" but he's fucking your
Getting by your manager, did for your cash
what you get with your uneducated ass
Pooh's the pistol-toting, dank-smoking,
Young player from
I was by O.G.'s fool, what you stressing?
AK's, Mac 12's fool, & Wessons
You got the audacity to false claim you be
R.I.P. to
You wanna be down with my but my town ain't down with ya clown
So studio put your motherfucking mic down
I'm coming for your ass, nigga, outta pocket
Squeeze the trigger, ball in the corner pocket

A lotta stories circulating town
Seems my peers in this business try to put me
He said this, she said
But you know where they talking fool: behind my back
had the guts to step up
And my fans know that I can take a rhyme and the flow
Somewhat of a realist, cause I as real as this
And all those other brothers can do is make a
Huh, so I refuse to they ass
I got something better, (gunshots)
and more I find myself in the media
Or on the screen for New Line 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 worm
When will you learn you only get what the fuck you
I'm the town of the motherfucking Mack
Even my bitch a big black gat, huh
So all the you doing gets you nowhere, player
The "Peace to My Nine" bullshit I couldn't bear
Here's my glock, to me cock it
The trigger is pulled, 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 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 otherwords more
Pooh be coming in first with niggas coming in last
So I take my and my sensor alarm
And I straight go crazy and take his fucking off
For being all in my mix
You punk ass hoe-trusting bitch
Yeah your partner pump you up, you throw chest in the air
And you got the nerves to badmouth a player
If I was you I'd shut my motherfucking
Before my Little E blow your motherfucking head off
You want some nigga, well you got it
It's like eight to the corner pocket