Luyện nghe bài hát Truth Or Truth

I'm stressed out so I'm like, "Why stress it?"
Am I selfish for myself
"Would you rather count money or blessings?"
Now that's a wild
Fame turned my upside down
I it was meant to be like passing Beyonce a Tic-Tac
And ain't a diss, this way more to me than a diss track
is God to me
Nas is God to me!
Eminem is B.I.G. and Pac to me
And if you disagree I you bleed hypocrisy!
And this will be the realest I ever wrote
Shoutout to all the bitches I've been involved with
Thank y'all for making my a crazier bitch than y'all bitches
might've lost me, but y'all win
And this will be the shit I ever wrote
Now talk about the BET Awards
When Kanye to the podium for the win
And mentioned in the same category as him but me and Em
He said motivated him
And normally that would be ammo to on him
But ain't my M.O! My M.O. is to be mo' motivatin'
This new-wave is so cultivatin'!
the fuck do I fit in?
And this will be the realest shit I wrote
I succumb so much to this game I feel
I answer more questions about the 40 and squabble
I answer questions that I ask myself
"Are you a father?", the answer's, "Well
Fuck this! got a game tomorrow"
I ain't gotta spell out the
If famous means speaking to people in offices
being there for your sons and daughters...
I'm off this...
I know the last couple of lines kinda fell out of the
But I don't a fuck!
Let me tell you
When was the last time you some shit
Where it actually out of your pocket?
Answer that! If I got to questions from you
You got to questions from me!
I'm fucking my whole life up for you, this question:
"What the fuck are you for me?", answer that!
Still I love my fans, even though y'all looking at me I'm just a drunk nigga
That's throwing up behind shit, blowing up, but nigga I ain't throwing up shit but my hands
And this is me growing up
Courtney Artesia, and Vish, please support me I need ya
But in reality an artist is supposed to be by easels
But in the meanwhile, I'm supported by evil
2: Joe Budden]
I'm no longer amused
I mean I this shit on "Cut You Loose"
How long am I supposed to stick around for this abuse?
Every time I go to leave, I "fuck is the use?"
I endure it for the fans that covet that new
Or is that just fuckin' excuse?
Do I do it for attention cause I crave it, I won't mention it, I'll it
If you know me than you know a nigga anonymity
thought that as a man, you must be kiddin' me
And I'm starting to feel my fans are now condemning me
Listen, I don't owe y'all
Joe I am today is the same Joe y'all get
Y'all interrupt a nigga while he at his place of worship
And think that came with your 20 dollar purchase
You bought the music, not the nigga made it
But let me touch up on that nigga made it
If you're judging me on actions I'll take that L every time
If you conclude "Joe Budden is a mah'fucker"
Cause all it mean if I'm a corny
Is the greatest rapper ever's a corny mah'fucker
My bad, I'm not as as you
But all time I was being me, not being you
I get that mic, let all my demons through
Without knowing shit about the that I'm speaking to
Add that to me not seeing a to
And that says a lot in a full of silence, listen...
At 21 I had a drug
At 31 still drugs is a
But the about that pill is it made everything real
And I I needed to see
Funny thing about it all, I like what I saw
Now the Lord's is in my head like
"You'll be soon for questioning me"
lesson for me
Far greater whatever I profess it to be
Cause if left to me, I'd put our eyes in our
over-think what we see and our whole lives would change
But fuck it, that day had to
Who ever knew that I would have a
I coulda guessed it, I was like a rabbit
But I never saw him handle like his dad did
Never me and Ronnie would talk again
Fuck a rhyme, I'm happy that we talk again
Who that the second I acknowledged you
You get terminally ill, be in the hospital
The thought of you leaving is fucks with me
I'm scared to of getting full custody
Nigga, I look in the disgustedly
So how am I to feel the day that he looks up to me?
I always said you the worst baby-mother
I had ex-girl confused baby-mother
And there my problem with our Creator
All the times I wanted her black ass dead, you take her
do it now, I need her
Understand, it get no realer
See how I go to bed thoughts of a damn killer
But rather show y'all my girl these Instagram filters
Look at her, look at me
Cause if y'all judging, y'all throw the book at me
Speakin' of shorty, nah, I'll do that in
It might be a soon for me to let her know how I get
Shit, and now we back at one
quick, let me get back to my son
When a nigga was
He said "Dad, I'm weird but I have a problem with that"
And I was like I laughed, and I was
"Well, number 1, why do you think weird
And 2, why don't you have a problem with that?"
And he looked me in my and he was like
"Well, I say I'm weird, number 1, I know I'm weird
And I don't a problem with it because that's me
And whoever don't like it, they don't have to be me
I'm with me and who I am"
And there, that was cold
In my head I "That was bold"
Illest shit it all, said that at 10 years-old
So I die right now
I could die right now and feel like he got the most part of Joe
Or... than that...
I could die right now and feel like he all he need to know

Royce, up
Last night we tears of joy
This morning they were there
What's handicap without the
That's we are, but fuck it...
We'll be the lamb for y'all niggas
it or love it...
Leave all of that, b, it...
[Verse 3: I]
Yeah, man
I kinda feel where my was coming from, you know
Both my niggas, you
was on WorldStar and shit
You know, talkin' 'bout I don't care of my junior
Me and my nigga though
Yo, my little rap
I just let it be, you know, cause people get their feelings over other shit
So I just let it go, you know, I have no rebuttal
But uh when you up fucked up
Nobody's perfect, you know, but I'm for this
This rap shit, man
Eastside Long Beach: Atlantic avenue and
Crooked was a youngster my ghetto attitude was
in the waist in case I had to shoot to kill
Rocking dumb mics I had was stupid skill
Eastsiders we about a bus bitch
sippin toca vodka, others had the blunt pitched
A lot of them niggas died, sweatshirt drenched
Others went to jail, hit a lick and left thumbprints
Long beach I ya grind
Even though you think you I out you not saluting mine
I dont come around much, Im on time
Lost and found I found when Im broke I my mind
So I hustle like Im on a hunger
Without a doubt I cuff a mic
I leave a body like the shottys out
Cause Im from a group slaughter
Rap better than everybody
Now they think Im in the game and
But Im like an orgasm man, I came from
Some of you the burbs but you claim you wasnt
So lame you struttin, with a cain you
Fuck all that, if I was born rich I would rhyme it
I was born poor in a ditch, Im rhyming climb up out it
Tryna a life of crime Im bout it
say Ill be fine without it
Death around the corner, prison breathing my neck
Chasing paper til a nigga out of breath
IRS wanna fuck me, I ain't outta debt
Said they Buck me
, squeeze me outta checks
Yeah, fools tryna squeeze me outta checks
Dont talk to unless you pay ya mommas rent
With marijuana sent outta town, them dollars
My own fam wanna grab the and harm me
But I got the nuts to an army
Word to Killa army, man all killers adore me
BET red carpet, the was on me
To put a slug in my flesh and wouldnt feel good
Serena crip at the Olympics
Im still
Still me, til my is blown
So many secrets I only to a glass of patron
of my fathers family died of cancer alone
He called me sick, I answer the phone
How does it to know that your son doesnt care
Cause you wasnt there, life fair
I look at steps in the direction, another stare
I swear, just the other night dawg
Like niggas, niggas in front of my studio on my kids life
Nahmean, I ran through the fucking studio to my grabbed that 3.57 thang man
Came out waving, Im to bust, the police pass by
My little brothers told me I needed to
Nahmean, this is what I do man, this is the I live for real dawg
This no muthafuckin rap music
the other night I coulda killed a nigga man
Nahmean, I wouldnt be here rapping this shit
about it man
[Verse 4: Joell
My grandmoms me
, dont exist
Baby stress me,
my got a cyst
My son love football and the little nigga hands is mean
But he chronic asthmatic so he fully suited on the wishing he could be in there but still
Cheering for his
My youngest son got nerve issues, he cry to me
Im at him like its not you fault
You was when daddy was such a slave to his everyday anxiety
I at UPS for a week and my boss ain't have to fire me
I wasnt fit to boxes I quit
Dont put me in that box I spit
My life too muthafucking fly for me
too muthafucking fly for me
From the lobby huffing and puffing running from
To Crooked I, Da 59, Joe Budden,
homie the Goodie Mob and me carving artistry
Celebrating escaping
knees and no socks
Chinese hocks but that was on the first, other than that
Liver works and sent me my yellow cheese in a box
Yall ain't have that yellow in a box
Last I cried tears of joy
But the other night I cried my boy
No here I cant hear his voice
I guess upstairs they playing choice
Popped a pill with Joe Im sippin with Royce
Crook light a nigga
My little homie hit the pen
Went in a adult and coming out a senior citizen
And them crackers denied me
Fuck dawg I cant sneak a visit in
I hustlin no more if yall listening
Yall niggas only get the man
Yall don't know be going on with a nigga day to day
I mean shit I ain't complaining or
Like a stand on his own two and hold it down
But its realer than you think
You think I give a fuck about a rap
I just left my condo, hopped up in my car Im on my way to fuck an
I dont need to remind me bout my pen and pad gift
ad-libs your wack spit
my visits to Chase divide mad chips among 3 other niggas
Nah nigga ain't no rap clique
This is a takeover
I another Range Rover
I got such a hangover the fact my mother became sober
My uncle fading from needle though
out he fully blown a couple weeks ago
My tested negative but its the same result
Cuz she gon die on the day he stop breathing yo
To me ain't to love me
Nah, to me is to know me
Cause you ain't got to me but respect that I ain't phony
Not a nominee for Tonys or for my uh balony
What you see is you get
Hope you getting what you see what you seeing is a threat
Come at me with indirects, I ain't gon a song about you
Imma you in your neck
And then write a song about how I beat you half to death
play with my little niggas
Im just a grown ass man tryna feed my family through the talent God me
I dont care if you hate me
But fuck with my money
Anything else I say will be dry on myself, how dumb would that be
gang
YAOWA!