Luyện nghe bài hát Throwed Off

[Gudda
Yeah,
Ok, I walk up in the club Louie-Louies the cherry bottoms
Bad bitch on my arm with a Halle Berry
You what I do, I, g-get straight to the moolah
Wrist wear and my watch is a Franck Muller
I'm young moolah, Gudda [x2], I
Remember I used to stuff my paper in my shoe box
Now I got two large accounts with money stacks and large
What the fuck you talkin' bout, cause we ain't tryin' talk it out
Pistol hangin' out my jeans, it a thing, let's talk it out
Let chopper start to sing and let it ring and then I'm out
Yeah, you what I'm sippin', purple got me trippin'
your chicken up and let her lick me like a lizard
I'm on South Beach chillin' and I'm tryin' to fuck every
Get her to the crib and her fuck everybody
You know the team, Young Money over everybody
In the rap game, so fuck everybody

[Lil
to the mob, bury you alive
My girl pussy like heaven to a God
And I came in this bitch my niggas
Kidnap the baby and the babysitter, yeah
I be doin' me, give a fuck bout what you doin'
gang bitch, big B's, Boston Bruins
I could do this shit, closed, nothin' to it
Bullets fuck your body up, they even tryna view it
I go tough, I go
Murk your ass and everyone you in cahoots with
you with a pool stick
Make you swallow two
right, we ruthless
We done too many movies
smoked too many doobies
Murk you out, then
We don't what truce is
That proof vest so useless
Flag red bruises
Shoot ya with them uzis
I swear, your honor, I a dealer, I'm a user, ya dig
I up the sig, point it at ya wig
Pull on the highway, throw you off the bridge
We don't a fuck, and we ain't never did
Shit, three words you never hear, let him
I'm in my own zone, it got me off
I break these bitches down, I break these off
Lil is my name, I got Gudda on the tape
Public apology, sorry for the