Luyện nghe bài hát Thugged Out

Yo! do this!
Uh!
Uh-oh, uh-oh!
Ha!
Uh-oh, uh-oh!
Ha!
Uh-oh, uh-oh!
Uh-oh, uh-oh!
nigga!
Throw up yo hands if you out
The regime up in bitch!

Throw up yo hands if you out
First nigga act up, first nigga drugged out.
Throw up yo if you thugged out
First nigga act up, first gettin drugged out.

1 *(yukmouth)*

I do for the
Real killas, and dealers
Affiliated wit mobb niggas, and spillas
Put a through you tough niggas

No tattoo on you, nigga
No from us
In thugs we
Niggas get rushed like hot snuff
Up yo
I up yo flows
my competition ass froze
We tag on they
I'm as cold as
Enemies get to a pole, blind fold then I unload.

Verse 2 *(tech of the regime)*

out
My choppers
Speakin the of carribean in tropolis
my z-z in
True clocker from welfare
of a crispy
An anamalisitc
My caristian
rhyme
The way I spits of my time
me a billboard, an you bet I climb
You mutha
I love
Thug, you hug crutches
Stayin away from you nothin but bum
The empire is an we bugged out
Phats, keke, maxx, poppa l.q., gonzoe an my yukmouth
bitches beggin me to come to menage
A
But muslims us say, "hum to allah"
They fly, on the crew nigga
You cannot block the regime from makin knots, no what you do

Ya an blue nigga
Undercovers like malik
nina's usin a force like yoda!

Verse 3 *(madd of the regime)*

this madd maxx
You cross the regime, you get yo life
We get it the good book
True thug niggas that turned to real
the microphone, you get yo brain shook
I ya we takin over soldier
A sober rollin rover's
Me, ke, gonz, yuk, tech 9, an on ya
All ready wit the caulked gage, out oklahoma
Fuck a
We 8-balls until we fall out
If you got a problem wit the regime, your souls out
We all out for war
niggas don't want no more
I'm takin over michael jordan
An I'm the first to
So you fake ass niggas who be plannin a plot
I yo block over
Wit the nitroglycerian
They got us up.

Verse 4 *(phats of the regime)*

They got us up
I've tough
Since a young
to prove
Lots of plus some war cuts
It shit, but a thang to me

I the man you claim to be
strike back
Gun fight, we had to hype
is the phats see dream like a fat kat
They funk, we get dressed in black
Caulk the
Screamin regime til they back
mobb-symboly, I die you remember me
Tatted wit in a custom coffin bently

I'm down to blast so tempt me
I'm hella drunk, an hella blown off the
wit me
See these in mine
Buildin this
To these fuckin children of mine
Uh
Look in my
As I bleed the nigga
(regime nigga, nigga)
Havin a of money machine.

5 *(poppa l.q. of the regime)*

No never been to the pen
But I did a bid
An I ain't dumb enough to speak on the dirt did
Guess somebody caught the killer the police did
Find him in the car leakin from over split wigs
lyrics to spit
Makin sure the killas my shit
Explicit lyrics an content
Shot callas representin at all the major
And gang bangin got the streets way too tense
I learned to wit it
I'm in the fields, windows on my wheel wit the steel in it
We keep puffin an rollin wit it
That jury linin, showcasin our to benifits
Of a time grindin, enjoyin the fruits of our labor
And rented from my tailors
Some young playas, for greater
You it's all bad
Let's make it all
Pushin the cavvy to the navvi wit the leather an wood
regime nigga!

6 *(yukmouth)*

The hardest from the "o"
My flow is certified theme music for organized
Niggas that banks, and murdered guys for they pies
for the sky
Techniques like deniro in "heat"
Karl
No disguise, in the middle of the
at police
Fuck
Got a range rove
Wit 12 open gold teeth
A piece
Cuban links, crops, an
But that ain't shit, to leave a nigga naked, duct taped wit they
In the
the safe is?
Big
Cops raided, but ended up gettin they fuckin car grenaded
You blazed shit?
I spit the
That's smoother a pair of new cinnamon timberlands
Get
But be no p
I'm from a city called weed
See these niggas be wit me
Fuck christy remmy
True thugs do an come up wit hits
Like hendricks
the world like snoop at no limit
Yuk to rap-a-lot, yeah nigga
I ain't a playa, I mack-a-lot
the gat
Tryin to yo watch in the back of the lot
my shit for underground fragment rock
Jackpot j struck it hit the lottery
The top
Blood on be from robbin sprees
Rock farm, wit tats all over my arm
Bullet wounds like a fresh back from nam
Yo nigga get yo on. (echos out)

*(talking)*

[how old you, mr. washington when you hit the streets permanatly? ]

10.

[how did you ]

I a runner.

[a runner.]

right.

[could you give us a of how you lived, the next few
Years.]

I kinda moved up. I lived where the money goes. I got busted, 2 and
1/2 in ? ?

when you got out.]

I got a piece of turf to myself. took it. one block at a time.
me.