Luyện nghe bài hát Telephone Calls

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

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

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

Godfather rap, nappy plaits to the
Brown swag, Papa's got a brand-new bag
And I don't how to act
On or off the record, go axe
back up on the map
True New will knock the Apple out you Jacks
Pop your cap, pop facts
Gucci and biddin' wars
Who order a before they hit the floors
Not even you see overseas in stores
Who else with me? I know you seen the
I'm in Gibral', I been the
Holy tabernacle, missiles your favorite rapper
Greedy for the fat platter
Killin' niggas though black lives matter
Weak stomach, flow 'em throw up
Steppin' stones, I'm stepfather
Tyler, better step his flow up
Mix the pour up the Pepsi Cola
or the Motorola
Young nigga never 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
Shirt is striped, my shorts are
My Vans are Vans 'cause Tyler does not with Giuseppe
the Gucci, fuck the Raf
And fuck the swag and all other shit they wearin'
Fuck the Rolls and fuck the
Fuck the Lambo, Tyler ride McLaren
Niggas think they really on they trappin'
Made about like 30
Fuck the party, the carnival
Attendance this year was like 30
Shoppin', ballin', opal diamonds shinin'
Make sure my glistenin'
Make the shit, I the shit
They cop the shit, Golf you bitch, you niggas trippin'
I'm a businessman, you never been the man
a tax bracket chain like have you seen my home?
Crib got a tennis
Get my and Serena on
Golf in bitch, better ring the doctor
Ambulance come I hit the scene
That boy flier a bag of bees
I got my flowers, a jeweler
Diamond, fingers of a tumor
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 to freeze
January, shirts
Boy this weather ain't got a on me
Where's the mirror? I'm nigga
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, 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! this?
Walk, Gleesh,
Walk, walk Gleesh,
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,