Luyện nghe bài hát Who Want It?

(Big out to The Alchemist)

I'm the most cold blooded, gold flooded, iced out, studded
Fly like the of who died cause the coke done it
like that Maz' that I got in my garage
When that rides up (Ahhhh), you gon' know it's not a Mazda
I zone better than you cause I exercise my hoes
But my finger got it's own regiment
I'm so sick like I got my own medicine, I do my own edits
C'mon, you if your crib got no echo, let go you ain't a star
I let go and like petrol into your car
Put your stunner on fix your eyes to look at me
I'm standin but still but yeah my chain is a y-twist
Why the fuck spend so much on those - why wouldn't we?
Plus I'm tired of talking bout what I shouldn't be (yeah)
Put the tools to 'em put the magnum in
Then, sing the blues to 'em let things cruise through 'em (blao)
Believe you me I be at ease, you weak niggas will bleed
Better breathe, you might it
That's the resume nigga, it seem roomy?
Don't it long? Don't my name got a ring to it?
Like a ring tone after King Comb
Eve, battle rappin, tabernacle theme song
That's cause I'm a natural, striking I'm lightin matches
I could west, south, Midwest or the Apple
Psychopathic, he on the track it's like it's magic
The city on his back just his jacket (Woooo!)
The gats we pack got extensions attachments
Put away your and pens if you rappin
You ain't write rhymes you could have 'em all in your head
I'll read 'em off the when you dead (yeah)
Most lyrical I am in a category with
Compare me to who? If it ain't the one I'm buryin you
Cause squeezing ain't shit, my guns be speakin to players Steven A. Smith
And believe me they spit, however you
I put up them number every season that's the reason sick (keep goin)
I don't pop a lot of bologna, the parkin lot I up your homie
I a lot of Prada, lot of Bryony
We only rock shoes once and 'em to my niggas (uh huh)
you still cleanin yours and stickin your sock in 'em (yeah)
Im a hot nigga, them glock triggers givin you riga'
Broadway and I'm all day like a slicker
You bigger than me I get you, I'm so shist'
I ghost if I wanted I could let Diddy dis you (keep goin)
Come your like the six is a tanker van
Have them killers up to the scene like the anchorman
And they'll give you the news without the down
Up comin rapper was slain but he is now (uh huh)
Etch out you, blow chest out you
Next album no need to know the bout you
While you in the air killed just hoverin' chillin (What you doin?)
In the Hilton in Paris fuckin with Hilton (Damn!)
Your little bo at the podium reading
I'm getting blowed by a hoe in a Via
To prove my I did my dirt, the most you can do to the ghost is kill my curse
The most you can do to me now is my work
You still can't touch it I'm dope, just my verse (keep goin)
My artistic thought process is all
The raw shit I thought of from awe disses (yeah)
The object of the sharp weapon
I guessin 'em all guess that I'm autistic
Preach! Nigga my is reachless, untouchable by any livin creature
Any way I'll meet you (yeah), I'll beet you (yeah)
Bed time to headline or anywhere I (uh huh)
Niggas ain't to hit nickel up to do songs (Naw)
one done it still pissed cause I pooped on him (hahahaha)
Made a writer's burst cause I looped on him
Oh (seven), Royce Da 5'9" who want it?

Nobody!
(Royce Da 5'9"... The Bar Exam... Pay attention)