Luyện nghe bài hát Whoa

Nah, no, nah, nah, that
Niggas think cause you fucking "Chum"
And got all personal that niggas go back
to that old 2010 shit about talking 'bout
fucking all
No, fuck nigga, I got you, fuck that

Grab mittens who to spit blizzardous
Actually flick ash at bitch niggas
Harassment, ate of hash, delay quick, and then
Dash to Saint pad to taste venison
Still in the of smacking up little rappers with
Raquets you play tennis with, hated for lifting and
Spraying that hotter wind in the shade of his innocence
Suitcase scented with and filetted sentences
Advanced apathy, smashing the man up
Tan khakis, an Dan-dappered up
Vagabond, had it since a
Rapping hot as fucking cattle brands flannel thongs
a bong, momma and some food, beer, tag along
Get a nice spanking, new Sears
Send them nettled to the bezzle stop, dead and wrong
Get 'em higher than the pitch of metal tea songs

deep in a Rover cannon
Riding dirty through a Saugus canyon, niggas know it's the


50 K for the check
But the Dollar Menu still be on deck, nigga the motherfuckin'

Yeah, the of a shit-talker
as Rick Ross's fifth sip off his sixth lager
Known to sit and wash the off at the pitch alter
Hat never backwards the print off legit manga
Get it? a blue pill, make ya stick longer
Or a fist off your chin from his wrist launcher
Chick, chronic thrift shopper, like the Knicks roster
Stormed off and came straight like pigs' posture
Pen? Naw, probably written some used syringes
out the rubbish bin at your local loony clinic
Watching movies in a full of goons he rented
On the hunt for clues, food, and some floozy women
Bruising gimmicks the broom he usually use for Quidditch
Gooey writtens, scoot 'em to a ditch, chewed and booty
Too pretentious, do pretend like he could lose with
Steaming tubes of poop and twisted doobies full of
Stupid, it up, jot it quick, thought out
it right back like a vodka fifth
Spot him on a rocket swapping dollars in for pocket
lob a wad of chicken at a copper on some Flocka shit

Posing try to disrespect
Get a fucking thunder to his neck, shout out to Nak, it's the


Looking bummy, on the block, looking like I ain't make
A quarter off of socks, nigga, cause it's the