Luyện nghe bài hát Telephone Calls

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

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

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

Godfather rap, plaits to the back
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
New York will knock the Apple out you Jacks
Pop your cap, pop facts
Gucci and Dior wars
Who order a piece before hit the floors
Not shit you see overseas in stores
Who else with me? I you seen the force
I'm in Gibral', I the Lord
Holy tabernacle, missiles snap your favorite
Greedy for the fat guy's
Killin' niggas even black lives matter
stomach, flow make 'em throw up
Steppin' stones, I'm your
Tell Tyler, step his flow up
Mix the pour up with the Pepsi
or the Motorola
Young nigga prolly never up
man with the telephone, uh

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

with Taco, fuck with Jasper
Fuck with Lionel, man that shit is get sketchy
Shirt is striped, my are short
My Vans are Vans 'cause Tyler does not with Giuseppe
the Gucci, fuck the Raf
And fuck the and all that other shit they wearin'
Fuck the and fuck the 'Rari
Fuck the Lambo, only ride McLaren
Niggas think they really on because they
about like 30 thousand
Fuck the party, the carnival
Attendance this was like 30 thousand
Shoppin', ballin', opal fire diamonds
sure my sapphire's glistenin'
Make the shit, I wear the
They cop the shit, it's Golf you bitch, you trippin'
I'm a businessman, you never been the man
Make a tax bracket like have you seen my home?
Crib got a court
Get my and Serena on
Golf in this bitch, ring the doctor
Ambulance when I hit the scene
boy flier than a bag of bees
I got my flowers, life's a
Diamond, fingers of a tumor
He's a genius, have you heard the
He's a winner, no not a
Fuck passin' blunts, pass my niggas
Goddamn, I'm hot, man, I'm not to freeze
January, shirts
Boy weather ain't got a thing on me
Where's the mirror? I'm nigga
ain't got much shit on me
'Cause I'm a master, I hit my own
To be like, "Y'all boys, my nigga"
that, it's Golf, bitch

it for Yams, ayy, ayy
I to do it for the grams, ayy, ayy
That's way before Instagram, ayy, ayy
I used to it for your mans
Postman! this?
Walk, Gleesh,
Walk, 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,