Luyện nghe bài hát Studio Gangster

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

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

A lotta stories 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
Never had the guts to up
And my know that I can take a rhyme and change the flow
Somewhat of a realist, I stay as real as this
And all those other brothers can do is a wish
Huh, so I to kiss they ass
I got better, motherfucker (gunshots)
More and more I myself in the media
Or maybe on the for New Line Cinema
Yeah, your are flapping but my bank is still stacking
'93 and I out to do nothing but keep taxing
Punk-ass bitch, you slimy-ass
When will you learn you only get the fuck you earn?
I'm from the town of the motherfucking
Even my draws a big black gat, huh
So all the you doing gets you nowhere, player
The "Peace to My Nine" bullshit I just couldn't
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, fools got something to say
I'm a thug, I sell drug ficticious
Man I'm telling you, these be vicious
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 otherwords cash
Pooh be coming in first with these niggas in last
So I take my and my sensor alarm
And I straight go crazy and take his fucking off
For all in my fucking mix
You punk motherfucking ass 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 shut my motherfucking
Before my Little E blow your motherfucking head off
You some funk nigga, well you got it
It's like eight to the corner pocket