Luyện nghe bài hát Telephone Calls

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

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

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

rap, nappy plaits to the back
James Brown swag, Papa's got a bag
And I know how to act
On or off the record, go axe
Harlem up on the map
True New York will the Apple out you Jacks
Pop Snapple cap, pop facts
Gucci and Dior biddin'
Who order a piece they hit the floors
Not even shit you see overseas in
Who with me? I know you seen the force
I'm in Gibral', I the Lord
Holy tabernacle, snap your favorite rapper
for the fat guy's platter
Killin' niggas though black lives matter
stomach, flow make 'em throw up
Steppin' stones, I'm your
Tell Tyler, step his flow up
Mix the pour up the Pepsi Cola
Nextel or the
Young prolly never grow up
man with the telephone, uh

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

Fuck with Taco, with Jasper
Fuck Lionel, man that shit is gon' get sketchy
is striped, my shorts are short
My Vans are Vans 'cause does not fuck with Giuseppe
the Gucci, fuck the Raf
And fuck the swag and all other shit they wearin'
Fuck the Rolls and the 'Rari
Fuck the Lambo, Tyler ride McLaren
Niggas think they really on because trappin'
about like 30 thousand
Fuck the party, threw the
Attendance year was like 30 thousand
Shoppin', ballin', opal fire diamonds
Make sure my glistenin'
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
Make a tax bracket chain like you seen my home?
got a tennis court
Get my and Serena on
Golf in this bitch, better ring the
come when I hit the scene
That boy flier a bag of bees
I got my flowers, life's a
Diamond, size of a tumor
He's a genius, have you heard the
a winner, no not a loser
Fuck passin' blunts, my niggas opportunities
Goddamn, I'm hot, man, I'm not scared to
January, Hawaiian
Boy this ain't got a thing on me
Where's the mirror? I'm nigga
Kunta got much shit on me
'Cause I'm a master, I hit my own
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
That's been way Instagram, ayy, ayy
I used to it for your mans
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,