Luyện nghe bài hát Turn The Party Out

Intro:

Yeah, tha
Ay j, I got a
They called the loot
And they can get fresh y'all, crazy fresh y'all
My man jack is about to get y'all

one: loot pack

Check the flavor here's a rootin tootin trooper
Tha alkaholik in the house and when I bust the hula-hooper
Peep my ish, when I flips I flash with the cracker jacker
A true packer
Gettin versatile when I smile toastin to the
All put your glass down, or end up in the trunk
You when my dope styles sound kind of varied
The pictionary, man my backpack, I'll carey
Mariah took her back, and show her how I pack,
Kick lyrics on originally outtrack in fact
call me moody, I simply knocks the booty
Pull up my hoody, and I bust a sam goody

Verse tash

on my woody 'cause I likes to get the loosest
I eat niggaz up and em down with deuce gooses
A .45 'cause I gotsta rush the likwit
Tash from the group the bitches wanna get with
I kick it from the all the way to the west
Yes stay away booze that puts the hair on your chest
And that's a little piece of advice for the
I bust more flavor than your got dittoes
I keep it up to date or it back like the twist
is out of town so the pack load the disc
So, take your ass home, good night, the party's
If ass is drunk, ride home with someone sober

Yeah... tha alkaholiks, ah yeah, the loot
(the party's over, all over) nineteen ninety-three
And is how we kick it

three: loot pack, j-ro

I'ma wreck the neck conducting like randy wrecker
The mecca licka mega-hot checka
me diesel to the easel, the weasel, the wacky
The packy, the rikki, tikki, the
One for the trouble, two for the
I get snaps and spit raps on the double
On and on to the I wreck shop
Scoop a rumplestil-skin then I'm out, the with the clout
Be so on the loopa, the super-duper wrecka mic checka
I soul like an old trooper
I used to play football, now I'm into
My rhyme is the tailback, the is the blockin
My name is j-ro and I've been for ages
To let the world know what I've writin on the pages
I don't smoke it's rough on the west
Ok, I confess, I on the stress
I rip it when I it, when I mic check it
Brothers check the flav, check the record
I flip styles, and rip styles, and hit styles
And hit for miles of styles, I still pile
The flavor flippin funk, bringin be the packer
A trooper loop, you like a hula-hoop and smack ya
Like you stutter, I styles, I'm comin
The loot pack, tha keepin niggaz runnin

Runnin, yeah, do shit, yeah
Turn the party out, yeah
Turn the party out, c'mon

Verse four:

You think that you can fade this, you be out to lunch
They call me e-swift, I'm from tha bunch
I just a brew, now check out one two
It's the baby rockin with the loot pack crew
Funky like con-funk-shun, style than stylistics
I got mo' than magic's got assists so
up off me, or get snatched by the collar
The party ain't over till fat bitch holler
I'm in the house so check the way I
say I'm fat, everyday I say I know
But my ain't swoll, I stay down to earth
Never gangbang, claim the turf
But I drink a of forties, ain't nuttin wrong with that
Unless you go buckwild and start off your gat
*bang, bang*

Ay nigga fuck that the party's man!
get they shit get the fuck out