Luyện nghe bài hát We Made It

Make me pop sumthin', no champagne
Two-five on me, weed and on me
Bitch motherfucker to get a rep' off me
him there, never know, get him off me
I remember days when we fucked bitches
a lot of clothes and, played the ave
Now we rap with a lot of wardrobes
And if we want a nigga dead we pay the
I ain't tryin to waste my career on
Even scuffle with y'all, waste on y'all
But if I gotta go out, you know show out
You gon' fuck and get your whole back blown out
I on the Island, can't tone out
The mess crawler, about to zone out
motherfuckers with our microphone out
We just dumb motherfuckers with our out

See me
I roll with Ghost and cats that they toast
Make the Post, front page and,
When it's time to off them things, it ain't a game man
We rocked out own diamond rings, see 'Bling, Bling'
Got big boy toys, push
Dime bitches, y'all before we import those
Jury stay froze, court get closed
hate Nino cuz how fast I rose up
Like George Jefferson and em, on em
The headline read, "Starks had the on em"
The best, what y'all He a vet
Plus the best, now tell me how we gon'
When we dealin with 'Supreme

Rikers Island to the Cayman Island
We thugs like, is the same challenge
Do the knowledge, your talent
And if you live the streets, you stay silent
Rikers Island to the Cayman Island
We thugs like, is the same challenge
Do the knowledge, recognize talent
And if you live the streets, you better stay

Yo, at The Mirage, Ghostface swarmed by groupies
Mingle amongst stars, I come in cat, Mars
Highlight of the century, first bet placed upon
Fainted when the mentioned me
Keep ballin, new systems, high
Drop that, Ghost listenin, sizzlin
Angelica, Judy Plum for bitches, Goines of the century
sellers for niggas, stay together
Posted up trucks, on the Benz
smile shot in thrity-five lens
You program, broke of Dom
Seven bangles, back breakers
I'm a dope fiend, at my arm, Popeye strength
Rap with a British accent, Gucci
Dennis Coles in the latest
Blow backs in, flip raps like fourty-eight
Dinner plates, deadly front gates, Bryant Gumbel

Analyze This shit Deniro, words in your center earhole
Blocks of ice like Sub-Zero, we been right day zero
your soul like glass windows
Turn virgins to nymphos, pop hollows at fake cats in a Tahoe
out, throw your liquor bottles at hood rats to the richest models
We like Christ and the twelve apostles
Livin life without you, can't count you as men
Murderers in the state pen', bein in
The wages of sin, before they up they pop our tape in
You ain't gotta tuck you chain in cuz here we want the of Satan
and our pants hangin