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

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

rap, nappy plaits to the back
James swag, Papa's got a brand-new bag
And I know 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 Dior biddin'
Who order a piece before hit the floors
Not even shit you see in stores
Who else me? I know you seen the force
I'm in Gibral', I the Lord
Holy tabernacle, missiles snap your rapper
for the fat guy's platter
Killin' niggas even black lives matter
Weak stomach, flow make 'em up
Steppin' stones, I'm your
Tell Tyler, better his flow up
Mix the pour up the Pepsi Cola
Nextel or the
nigga prolly never grow up
Post man the telephone, uh

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

Fuck with Taco, with Jasper
Fuck with Lionel, man shit is gon' get sketchy
Shirt is striped, my shorts are
My are Vans 'cause Tyler does not fuck with Giuseppe
Fuck the Gucci, the Raf
And fuck the swag and all that shit they wearin'
Fuck the Rolls and fuck the
Fuck the Lambo, Tyler only McLaren
Niggas think really on because they trappin'
Made about like 30
Fuck the party, threw the
Attendance this year was 30 thousand
Shoppin', ballin', opal fire diamonds
Make my sapphire's glistenin'
Make the shit, I the shit
They cop the shit, Golf you bitch, you niggas trippin'
I'm a businessman, you ain't been the man
a tax bracket chain like have you seen my home?
Crib got a tennis
Get my Venus and on
Golf in this bitch, better the doctor
Ambulance 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
He's a winner, no not a
Fuck passin' blunts, pass my niggas
Goddamn, I'm hot, man, I'm not to freeze
January, Hawaiian
Boy weather ain't got a thing on me
Where's the mirror? I'm that
Kunta ain't got much 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 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,