Luyện nghe bài hát Telephone Calls

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

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

I got money
I'ma bag your bitch, I'ma buy your
(I got bags, turn up, turn up)
I'ma cash this shit, I'ma cash this
(I got bags, turn up, turn up)
Cash Carti, bitch, Cash Carti,
(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
back up on the map
True New York will knock the Apple out you
Pop your cap, pop facts
Gucci and biddin' wars
Who order a piece 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 snap favorite rapper
Greedy for the fat guy's
Killin' niggas even though black matter
Weak stomach, flow 'em throw up
Steppin' stones, I'm stepfather
Tell Tyler, better step his up
Mix the pour up with the Cola
or the Motorola
Young nigga prolly 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 that shit is get sketchy
is striped, my shorts are short
My Vans are 'cause Tyler does not fuck with Giuseppe
Fuck the Gucci, the Raf
And the swag and all that other shit they wearin'
Fuck the Rolls and fuck the
Fuck the Lambo, Tyler only ride
Niggas think they on because they trappin'
Made like 30 thousand
Fuck the party, the carnival
Attendance this year was 30 thousand
Shoppin', ballin', opal fire diamonds
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 been the man
Make a tax chain like have you seen my home?
Crib got a tennis
Get my Venus and on
Golf in this bitch, better the doctor
Ambulance come when I hit the
That boy than 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
passin' blunts, pass 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 ain't got 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 been way Instagram, ayy, ayy
I to serve it for your mans
Postman! Who's
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,