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 if you thugged out
The regime up in bitch!

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

1 *(yukmouth)*

I do for the
killas, and drug dealers
Affiliated wit niggas, and blood spillas
Put a slug you tough niggas

No dragon tattoo on you,
No love us
In we trust
Niggas get rushed like hot whitend
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.

2 *(tech n9ne of the regime)*

out
My choppers
Speakin the opposite of in tropolis
my z-z in
True clocker from welfare
of a crispy
An anamalisitc
My race
rhyme
The way I ahead of my time
me a billboard, an you bet I climb
You fuckas
I rukus
Thug, makin you hug
Stayin from you nothin but bum bustas
The empire is back an we out
Phats, keke, maxx, l.q., gonzoe an my nigga yukmouth
bitches beggin me to come to menage
A
But hear us say, "hum to allah"
They fly, on the crew nigga
You block the regime from makin knots, no matter what you do

Ya black an blue
Undercovers like yoba
nina's usin a force like yoda!

Verse 3 *(madd of the regime)*

this madd maxx
You the regime, you get yo life took
We get it fuck the book
True niggas that turned to real crooks
Robbin the microphone, you get yo shook
I told ya we takin soldier
A sober rollin rover's
Me, ke, gonz, yuk, 9, an phats on ya
All ready wit the caulked gage, buggin out
a corona
We 8-balls until we fall out
If you got a problem wit the regime, souls called out
We all out for war
These niggas don't no more
I'm takin over like michael
An I'm the to score
So you fake ass niggas who be plannin a plot
I take yo over
Wit the rock
got us fucked up.

Verse 4 *(phats of the regime)*

got us fucked up
I've been
a young buck
Nothin to
of pain plus some war cuts
It ain't shit, but a to me

I the man you claim to be
Niggas strike
Gun fight, we had to hype
This is the phats see like a fat kat
They funk, we get dressed in black
the strap
Screamin regime til they back
It's mobb-symboly, I die you me
wit dragons in a custom coffin bently

I'm down to blast so don't me
I'm hella drunk, an blown off the geniti
wit me
See these killas in
this shrine
To feed these fuckin children of
Uh
in my eyes
As I bleed the nigga
(regime nigga, nigga)
Havin a pile of machine.

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

No I've never to the pen
But I did a bid
An I ain't enough to speak on the dirt I've did
Guess somebody the killer before the police did
him in the car leakin from dope over split wigs
Deadly to spit
Makin sure the killas my shit
Explicit lyrics an adult
Shot callas at all the major events
And gang bangin got the streets juss way too
I learned to wit it
I'm in the fields, tinted on my wheel wit the steel in it
We keep puffin an rollin wit it
jury linin, showcasin our diamonds to benifits
Of a long grindin, enjoyin the fruits of our labor
And rented suits from my
young playas, strivin for greater
You it's all bad
Let's it all good
the cavvy to touch the navvi wit the leather an wood
It's nigga!

6 *(yukmouth)*

The hardest nigga the "o"
My flow is theme music for organized crime
Niggas that burglurised banks, and guys for they pies
for the sky
Techniques like deniro in "heat"
kani's
No disguise, in the of the street
at police
Fuck
Got a rove jeep
Wit 12 faced gold teeth
A piece
links, crops, an bracelets
But ain't shit, to leave a nigga naked, duct taped wit they bitch
In the
Where the is?
Big
Cops raided, but ended up gettin they squad car grenaded
You want blazed
I the nitroglycerian
That's smoother than a pair of new timberlands
Get
But be no p
I'm from a called weed city
See these regime be wit me
Fuck juss remmy
True thugs do drugs an come up wit
jimmi hendricks
Shock the world like snoop at no
Yuk to rap-a-lot, yeah nigga
I ain't a playa, I mack-a-lot
the gat
Tryin to snatch yo watch in the of the lot
Keep my shit for underground fragment
j struck it rich hit the lottery
The top
Blood on wallet be from sprees
Rock farm, wit tats all over my arm
Bullet wounds like a nigga fresh back nam
Yo get yo mash on. (echos out)

*(talking)*

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

10.

[how did you ]

I a runner.

[a runner.]

right.

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

I kinda moved up. I lived where the goes. then 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.