Luyện nghe bài hát Throwed Off

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

[Lil
Married to the mob, you alive
My girl pussy like heaven to a God
And I came in this bitch with my
Kidnap the and the fuckin' babysitter, yeah
I be doin' me, don't a fuck bout what you doin'
Blood bitch, big B's, Boston Bruins
I could do shit, eyes closed, nothin' to it
fuck your body up, they ain't even tryna view it
I go tough, I go
Murk pussy ass and everyone you in cahoots with
you with a pool stick
Make you two dicks
Fuckin' right, we
We done watched too many
Then too many doobies
you out, then deuces
We don't know what is
That bullet proof vest so
Flag red like
Shoot ya head with uzis
I swear, your honor, I a dealer, I'm a user, ya dig
I load up the sig, it at ya wig
Pull over on the highway, throw you off the
We don't give a fuck, and we never did
Shit, three you never hear, let him live
I'm in my own zone, it got me off
I break bitches down, I break these hoes off
Lil Tunechi is my name, I got Gudda on the
apology, sorry for the wait