Luyện nghe bài hát We Made It

Make me wan' pop sumthin', no
Two-five on me, weed and on me
motherfucker tried to get a rep' off me
Leave him there, know, get him off me
I remember days when we just bitches
Bought a lot of clothes and, the ave
Now we rap niggas a lot of wardrobes
And if we want a nigga dead we pay the
I ain't tryin to waste my on y'all
Even scuffle with y'all, waste on y'all
But if I go out, you know I'mma show out
You gon' fuck around and get your whole back out
I remember on the Island, tone out
The hall crawler, about to zone out
Dumb with our microphone out
We dumb motherfuckers with our microphone out

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

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

Yo, spotted at The Mirage, swarmed by groupies
Mingle amongst stars, I come in cat, invades
Highlight of the century, first bet upon entry
Fainted the book mentioned me
Keep ballin, new systems, high
Drop that, Ghost listenin, track
Angelica, Plum for bitches, Goines king of the century
Best sellers for niggas, together
Posted up trucks, leanin on the
Cinemax smile in thrity-five lens
You program, broke of Dom
Seven inch bangles, back
I'm a fiend, look at my arm, Popeye strength
Rap with a British accent, Gucci
Dennis in the latest fashions
backs in, flip raps like fourty-eight bundles
Dinner plates, front gates, celeb Bryant Gumbel

Analyze This shit like Deniro, in your center earhole
of ice like Sub-Zero, we been right since day zero
Shatter soul like glass windows
virgins to nymphos, pop these hollows at fake cats in a Tahoe
Wild out, throw your liquor bottles at rats to the richest models
We conversate like and the twelve apostles
Livin life you, can't count you as great men
Murderers in the state pen', bein in
The wages of sin, they read up they pop our tape in
You ain't gotta tuck you chain in cuz here we want the of Satan
Durags and our hangin