Luyện nghe bài hát That's How I'm Livin

I was born in New Jersey, I it before
But I nobody heard me, my mother died young
No sistas or brothas, I was the son
I was twelve my pops died too

What a brotha was to do?
They sent me out West to with my aunt
I guess thought it was the best
But there was no love growin' with no moms

I guess I was prepared to in a vacuum
The bedroom the kitchen, the and the bathroom
I leave home much, didn't like L.A.
have no friends to trust

Got busted to a
Blacks and whites, I guess the shit was
But in school I changed
wanna bust, didn't wanna play the game

I walked to high, shit was fly
I hooked up a new crew
Some brothas knew what the fuck to do
You might call it a but we called it a set

And it was our own thang, the school was down
And one way or another everybody around
Whether hardcore or not you wore the right or your ass got shot
how I'm livin'

I did three years in and made close
Havin' no love my homies came my
I was glad, a family I had
But I up fast got a girl on 10th grade pregnant

Needin' cash, I had to change my
Switched bangin' to hustlin'
No goin' buck wild had to get a cash flow
But my was weak, it was a no go

I join the army, years in that shit
Be all fucked you can be, came back to the
My homies had done good, had their game
About 100 gees a lick, no shame

for the jewels
Baby sledgehammers were the
I on this with a hesitation
Even though it passed the statue of

I the bank
Bought a Porsche and gear, earned high rank
But as I grew my crew fell through
Cops had us on the books as interstate

Murder robbery escape, the whole damn nine
You a nigga blind
I had too much juice, I cut my boosters
I was intreagued with the game

Took on the ice-name but the pimp game too slow
Especially for a nigga who was hooked on dough
In one night I was in a car wreck
And I was to escape

for ten weeks, in bed almost dead
And when I got well, I got in a cross
And got in a jail cell
how I'm livin'

They cut me and I had to change troops
This time didn't catch me
Next they'll stretch me
'Cause my was gettin' short

All my homies was in
Or locked in a hole, shit was gettin' old
So I changed my
Put down the gun and up the mic

It took ten years to get there to here
But I still a gun, cops got me on the run
And they hate me more now than they did before
My homies came back from pen and we all worked

friends but every once and while
Some punk me as a junk
And he gets in my face, wrong mothafuckin'
And I lyin', that's how you dyin'