Luyện nghe bài hát Sum Shit I Wrote

Marks I erase racism, I'm as large as a bigot
Groove is my escapism when I'm bubbly I just it
What I need from you is understanding that I'm
On my own two, down with my own

Toe cancer, I'm bad to the bone too, I'm to snap off
When I'm off Cognac, I can't hold back like a masseuse
I get loose like a screw turned from right to tight
When it's for some action, I get Red's, "Tonight's Da Night"

An eye for an eye, a life for his
Dissected, I'm on some hi-tech shit want to bite
Your style is Pascal, mine is Basic and instinct
I'm with the fam and ran scams, me and got up on big links

And if knowledge is the key, goddammit I'm the
Started a missionary way on my life, the mic I rust like
I switch styles a channel with controls that are remote
Engage in a page and words I elope

Walking down the aisles styles I freak the viles
Anti-Nazi when I like a Z-28
At any rate, gain interest because I loaned them microphones
They couldn't house the so they had to rent to own

like that, coming from the go rapper
I wanna bone Pinkett and that hoe Patra
So keep on and you don't, now on
Ah keep on and you

Sometime I'm alone in my room I stare at the wall
And in the back of my I hear a wack-ass rhyme
And I catch Alz-rhymers, then it, I get charged
Like a nigga in with the stolen card the credit

flipping the script, the rap scene I'm trying to edit
My mellows call me, "Never", they be like, "Never's to get it"
Never's too much, I'm much too, I do justice to
That's why cats be like, "Fuck you, fuck you, you!"

studs come through to see what I am up to
They be on the dick of crew that be us sweet and buying us fruit
Like I got the hook up, brothers look out because they look
Rest in to 'Heavena', washing tons of rappers like Booker

Tee told me, "You get out of the crib, get into the world"
How you going to off with the style that's through?
It's that, keep on, ha ha
It's like that, on

My foundation is in black block of niggas that they hat cock
I'm real a fight with my rap, rappers I slap box
Back I got my rap, now get your glock out the black
Got tall flavor with fat taste, the rat race is a rat

Just you got Adidas with the fat laces
And the fro don't make you hip-hop, tou sorry excuse for rap
Why is there so many trying to rhyme, yo funk that
The real shit's starting to back

The go is I'm from and where I'm at, jack
I started eating cat I was 10
Before dinner I was getting big dog like Glen
I don't see nothing wrong with a bump and grind

But comes a time when you gotta get off of that
The facts of life I didn't from watching Tootie
But in the big city
But I still like cause she got big titties

My style is steep, I write on the incline
Splat guts plus fat nuts and lay up a crib line
I'm slamming, on the one
I'm a bad man, you're just a son, come on