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, A$AP Bari, he
Money clean, young boy, Ian off the shit (Young Lord)
with them boys out of Harlem or the six
This is Gosha, man I pay for No sir
coaster, roller coaster, chauffer

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

Godfather rap, plaits to the back
Brown swag, Papa's got a brand-new bag
And I know how to act
On or off the record, go axe
Harlem up on the map
True New York knock the Apple out you Jacks
Pop your Snapple cap, pop
Gucci and Dior wars
Who a piece before they hit the floors
Not even you see overseas in stores
Who else with me? I know you the force
I'm in Gibral', I the Lord
Holy tabernacle, missiles your favorite rapper
Greedy for the fat platter
Killin' niggas even though lives matter
Weak stomach, make 'em throw up
stones, I'm your stepfather
Tell Tyler, better his flow up
Mix the pour up with the Cola
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, with Jasper
with Lionel, man that shit is gon' get sketchy
Shirt is striped, my are short
My Vans are Vans 'cause Tyler does not with Giuseppe
Fuck the Gucci, the Raf
And fuck the swag and all that shit they wearin'
Fuck the and fuck the 'Rari
Fuck the Lambo, Tyler only McLaren
Niggas think they really on they trappin'
Made about like 30
the party, threw the carnival
Attendance this was like 30 thousand
Shoppin', ballin', opal fire shinin'
Make sure my sapphire's
Make the shit, I the shit
They cop the shit, it's you bitch, you niggas trippin'
I'm a businessman, you ain't never the man
a tax bracket chain like have you seen my home?
Crib got a court
Get my Venus and on
Golf in this bitch, better ring the
Ambulance come when I hit the
boy flier than a bag of bees
I got my flowers, life's a
Diamond, size of a tumor
He's a genius, have you the rumors?
a winner, no not a loser
Fuck passin' blunts, pass my opportunities
Goddamn, I'm hot, man, I'm not scared to
January, shirts
Boy weather ain't got a thing on me
Where's the mirror? I'm that
Kunta got much shit on me
I'm a master, I hit my own back
To be like, "Y'all boys, my nigga"
Fuck that, it's Golf,

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