Luyện nghe bài hát Telephone Calls

Brr, brr, brr, brr
Ring, ring, ring, man
Who

Telephone call from young Carti, said lit
Call the young Lord, Bari, he legit
Money clean, young boy, Ian Connor off the (Young Lord)
Fuckin' them boys out of Harlem or the six
is Gosha, man I pay for pussy? No sir
Ridin' coaster, roller coaster,

I got money
I'ma bag bitch, I'ma buy your bitch
(I got money bags, up, turn up)
I'ma cash this shit, I'ma cash this
(I got bags, turn up, turn up)
Carti, bitch, Cash Carti, bitch
(Carti, Carti)
You can have this shit, you can have shit
(What you want, yo?)

Godfather rap, nappy plaits to the
James swag, Papa's got a brand-new bag
And I don't how to act
On or off the record, go axe
Harlem up on the map
True New York will knock the Apple out you
Pop your Snapple cap, pop
Gucci and biddin' wars
Who a piece before they hit the floors
Not even shit you see in stores
Who else with me? I know you seen the
I'm in Gibral', I been the
Holy tabernacle, snap your favorite rapper
for the fat guy's platter
Killin' even though black lives matter
Weak stomach, flow 'em throw up
stones, I'm your stepfather
Tell Tyler, better his flow up
Mix the pour up with the Pepsi
Nextel or the
Young nigga prolly grow up
man with the telephone, uh

Brr, brr, brr, brr
Ring, ring, ring, man
Who

Fuck with Taco, fuck Jasper
Fuck with Lionel, man that shit is gon' get
is striped, my shorts are short
My Vans are Vans Tyler does not fuck with Giuseppe
Fuck the Gucci, the Raf
And fuck the and all that other shit they wearin'
Fuck the and fuck the 'Rari
the Lambo, Tyler only ride McLaren
Niggas think they really on they trappin'
about like 30 thousand
Fuck the party, threw the
Attendance year was like 30 thousand
Shoppin', ballin', opal diamonds shinin'
sure my sapphire's glistenin'
Make the shit, I wear the
They cop the shit, it's Golf you bitch, you niggas
I'm a businessman, you ain't never the man
Make a tax chain like have you seen my home?
Crib got a tennis
Get my Venus and on
in this bitch, better ring the doctor
Ambulance come I hit the scene
boy flier than a bag of bees
I got my flowers, life's a
Diamond, fingers size of a
a genius, have you heard the rumors?
He's a winner, no not a
passin' blunts, pass my niggas opportunities
Goddamn, I'm hot, man, I'm not scared to
January, Hawaiian
Boy this weather ain't got a on me
Where's the mirror? I'm nigga
Kunta ain't got shit on me
I'm a master, I hit my own back
To be like, "Y'all boys, my nigga"
Fuck that, Golf, bitch

it for Yams, ayy, ayy
I to do it for the grams, ayy, ayy
That's been way Instagram, ayy, ayy
I used to serve it for your
Postman! Who's
Walk, Gleesh,
Walk, Gleesh, walk
Walk, walk, Gleesh, walk
Walk, walk, walk, walk,
Walk, walk, walk, walk,
Walk, walk, walk, walk,
Walk, walk, walk, walk,
Walk, walk, walk, walk,
Walk, walk, walk, walk,
Walk, walk, walk, walk,