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 up in this bitch!

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

1 *(yukmouth)*

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

No dragon tattoo on you,
No love us
In thugs we
get rushed like hot whitend snuff
Up yo
I up yo flows
Leave my ass froze
We tag on toes
I'm as cold as
get tied to a pole, blind fold then I unload.

Verse 2 *(tech of the regime)*

out
My choppers
the opposite of carribean in tropolis
my z-z in
True clocker welfare recipiants
of a crispy
An anamalisitc
My caristian
rhyme
The way I spits ahead of my
me a billboard, an you bet I climb
You fuckas
I love
Thug, you hug crutches
Stayin from you nothin but bum bustas
The empire is back an we out
Phats, keke, maxx, poppa l.q., gonzoe an my nigga
These bitches me to come to menage
A
But muslims us say, "hum to allah"
They fly, that's on the nigga
You block the regime from makin knots, no matter what you do

Ya black an nigga
like malik yoba
Lyrically usin a force like yoda!

3 *(madd maxx of the regime)*

Nigga this maxx
You cross the regime, you get yo life
We get it fuck the good
True thug niggas that to real crooks
Robbin the microphone, you get yo shook
I told ya we takin over
A niggas rollin rover's
Me, ke, gonz, yuk, tech 9, an on ya
All ready wit the caulked gage, out oklahoma
a corona
We drinkin 8-balls until we out
If you got a problem wit the regime, your souls out
We all out for war
These niggas don't want no
I'm takin like michael jordan
An I'm the to score
So fuck you ass niggas who be plannin a plot
I take yo over
Wit the rock
They got us up.

Verse 4 *(phats of the regime)*

got us fucked up
I've tough
Since a young
Nothin to
Lots of pain some war cuts
It shit, but a thang to me

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

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

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

No I've never 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 before the did
Find him in the car leakin from over split wigs
Deadly lyrics to
sure the killas feelin my shit
Explicit lyrics an adult
Shot representin at all the major events
And gang bangin got the streets juss way too
I to deal wit it
I'm in the fields, windows tinted on my wheel wit the in it
We keep puffin an real wit it
That linin, showcasin our diamonds to benifits
Of a long time grindin, enjoyin the of our labor
And rented from my tailors
Some young playas, for greater
You know all bad
make it all good
Pushin the to touch the navvi wit the leather an wood
regime nigga!

6 *(yukmouth)*

The hardest from the "o"
My flow is certified theme for organized crime
that burglurised banks, and murdered guys for they pies
for the sky
Techniques like robert in "heat"
Karl
No disguise, in the middle of the
Buckin at
police
Got a rove jeep
Wit 12 open faced teeth
A piece
links, crops, an bracelets
But that ain't shit, to leave a nigga naked, duct taped wit they
In the
Where the is?
Big
Cops raided, but ended up gettin they fuckin squad car
You want blazed
I spit the
That's smoother a pair of new cinnamon timberlands
Get
But be no p
I'm from a city weed city
See these niggas be wit me
Fuck christy juss
True do drugs an come up wit hits
Like hendricks
the world like snoop at no limit
Yuk signed to rap-a-lot, yeah
I ain't a playa, I juss
the gat
Tryin to snatch yo in the back of the lot
Keep my shit for fragment rock
Jackpot j struck it rich hit the
The top
Blood on be from robbin sprees
Rock phat farm, wit all over my arm
Bullet wounds like a nigga back from nam
Yo get yo mash on. (echos out)

*(talking)*

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

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 where the money goes. then I got busted, 2 and
1/2 in ? ?

[and you got out.]

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