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 up in this bitch!

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

1 *(yukmouth)*

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

No dragon tattoo on you,
No from us
In thugs we
Niggas get like hot whitend snuff
Up yo
I fuck up yo
Leave my ass froze
We tag on they
I'm as as pocinos
Enemies get tied to a pole, blind then I unload.

Verse 2 *(tech of the regime)*

out
My oblivion
the opposite of carribean in tropolis
my z-z in
True clocker from recipiants
Type of a
An tupac-er
My race
Jedi
The way I spits of my time
Give me a billboard, an you bet I
You mutha
I love
Thug, makin you hug
away from you nothin but bum bustas
The empire is an we bugged out
Phats, keke, maxx, poppa l.q., an my nigga yukmouth
These bitches beggin me to to menage
A
But muslims us say, "hum to allah"
They fly, that's on the nigga
You cannot the regime from makin knots, no matter what you do

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

Verse 3 *(madd of the regime)*

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

Verse 4 *(phats of the regime)*

They got us up
been tough
Since a buck
to prove
Lots of pain plus war cuts
It shit, but a thang to me

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

I'm to blast so don't tempt me
I'm hella drunk, an hella blown off the
wit me
See these in mine
Buildin this
To feed these children of mine
Uh
in my eyes
As I bleed the regime
(regime nigga, nigga)
a pile 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 to speak on the dirt I've did
Guess somebody the killer before the police did
Find him in the car leakin from dope over wigs
Deadly to spit
Makin sure the killas feelin my
Explicit lyrics an adult
Shot callas at all the major events
And bangin got the streets juss way too tense
I learned to wit it
I'm in the fields, windows tinted on my wit the steel in it
We keep puffin an real wit it
That jury linin, our diamonds to benifits
Of a long time grindin, enjoyin the of our labor
And rented suits my tailors
young playas, strivin for greater
You know 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 from the "o"
My is certified theme music for organized crime
Niggas that burglurised banks, and murdered guys for they
for the sky
Techniques like deniro in "heat"
Karl
No disguise, in the of the street
Buckin at
Fuck
Got a rove jeep
Wit 12 faced gold teeth
A piece
Cuban links, crops, an
But that shit, to leave a nigga naked, duct taped wit they bitch
In the
the safe is?
Big
Cops raided, but ended up gettin they fuckin squad car
You want blazed
I spit the
That's smoother than a pair of new cinnamon
Get
But be no p
I'm a city called weed city
See these regime be wit me
Fuck christy juss
True thugs do an come up wit hits
Like jimmi
Shock the world like at no limit
Yuk signed to rap-a-lot, 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 fragment rock
Jackpot j struck it hit the lottery
The top
Blood on be from robbin sprees
phat farm, wit tats all over my arm
Bullet wounds like a nigga fresh from 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 give us a description of how you lived, the few
Years.]

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

[and you got out.]

I got a piece of turf to myself. it. one block at a time. nobody
me.