Luyện nghe bài hát Underground Kings

I'm an
I'm, I'm an

Rumor has it I'm an king
All I give a fuck is money
And I got it, I don't give a fuck about it
It's outlandish, I for granted what God granted
My countertop granite, my house is
While I'm inside of it
Feelin' out as I pop Xanax
myself on TV
In order to get to the TV I had to go through the proper
I don't rock the flannel, I rock the Air Max, Atmos and
call me the Benz owner, I put Lorenzo's on it
Then go and pick a chick up, it and friend zone her
Soon as I see her up, I be fuckin' her raw
If she a B or an A cup, her fuck in a bra
Let's get it goin', got a dyke in the
I'm sure she enjoyin', I kill verses in for it
A is borin', for you to be informed
I'm a chore and my circle change more a European coin
the kill has begun, you realize
I'm the illest, the realest is Pimp C, and the is Bun
I'm best at gun rap, gun wrap
I put you on my recipe
I put you on the treadmill less like run that, run that
Detroit nigga, I destroy in general
I deploy niggas to generally destroy regimes
So rumor has it I'm an underground

From underground, a one, I don't get it
I still be in Civics, one of my bitcHes', I grew witH the clip
And I'm for the stripping, unload 'til I end it
Put ten in a tank, 10 mil' in my bank, I'm real tHan you tHink
Buy a bitcH some High Heels, a small and a sHank
Some wet naps, a skirt to insert tHrough a sHape
I'm in the gun wraps, I say tHem gun raps, I tHe guns back
And gang tats
And wHen I wrote tHis Had H capped
You know tHem Hoovers it, 'bout it, I serve bullets
And narcotics, the cops watcHin', still
A gang member, rock, every car on the block
No antennas, just a body, and my own Hitta
I'm Top Dawg, you cat
Denied a million tHrougH a text, I'm a real
From Heaven to the lowest of
Spit bar for the rebels
My to startin' trouble: orange rags
Bucket Hats, even be witH my stunt
My life is jail or oxy in my cotton
You lookin' pale and so it's be for the knockin'
[?] 45, it's only 3
I'm second to none, I shoot 'til I won, gun bigger Bun
Take more your lung, pop, pop, pop
Convert to a Hearse, get a new top dropped, yawk
Murder music, out of Buicks
Nobody movin' or I on it
I get a crown, I bleed on it

An underground king my lean
You know I my profit because I triple my beam
You stop with the topics and all this fussin' and arguin'
Ain't it clear to optics that I would go through a squadron?
Cause I'm as and vicious as killin' Christians and Christians
On the eve of a Christmas, say we got sick and
I'm talkin' tangled and twisted, this was terror-terrific
We killed the and kiddies, murdered the dog and the misses
And made the maid do the dishes, now she sleep with the
Now that sucka dead, I assume my position
In the place, a king, on the is where I'm sittin'
Yeah, the throne is mailed with the metal microphone
Hey, let the rats and the mice Killer Mike is home
Killer is iller than all the killas they know
My past is good, I land a rock at my
Before I go, rest in to Dilla fosho
Slum lord with a mic cord in a slum village on a slum
Through every ghetto I carry the heavy
Just in case a shovel is needed when are settled
Mama get petals
That's it, finito, no chatter, the matter
I got your bitch, I got some head, she got
Lyrically I'm literally a bad
[?] my technique, and my a tad butler, mothafucka