Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do gets banned if I
So sometimes I and sometimes I won't
Puff mad stick a forty down the back
Sit fat and relax and plan my
Not the one to I posess mad finesse
My buddha was one bird in the nest
Chills my peeps steady bouncing in jeeps
On the New York hittin urban concrete
I'm the man untestable, with the extraterrestrial
celo, pop the top off the forty ounce bottle
I'm not the one to follow, I'm not the model
Hollow tips in my clips money grip and my
Only spits I react to the bullshit
So give me room to and get up off DEEZ
And the confessions for JEESuz
Plus I don't to hear no sorrow
Eff it, the sun will still come out
Long as I'm breathing, needing, even Steven
Achieving, gettin cheese and
Representin lovely, Boogie Down major
With the flavor, I made ya, daze ya
My is mad ill if you front
You know what I

(Whutcha want Nine?) Fat beats for my
(So want Nine?) Mad clips for my nines
(So want Nine?) A ill posse
And my name up in lights,

I'ma let you how I feel on the real
I pack steel it's like a jungle makes me where my eel is
Hits the skips the dog shit complete in my cipher
Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper a viper
I'ma strike if I got it for the jugular
Stretch you like a
Stoppah, stoppah, but you stop me
Just clock me, just me blow up the spot G
Came a way from, back in the day
We did it for no pay, rhymin hit the hay and
Sleep, up, write another rhyme
Hit the park after dark drop the one time
when shit was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the homemade mics and wheels of
Backup from the roof, amp plugged in the light
right, jam over a street fight
Back to the lab I my pen and pad
Raw lyrics a fleuredoscad
Had no dinero, enough get fo' chicken and rice
A forty ounce a nickel bag to get
And now I make a million, and still son
It makes the heart pump, you what I want

(Whutcha Nine?) Fat beats for my rides
(So whutcha want Nine?) Mad clips for my
(So whutcha want Nine?) A ill
And my up in lights, N-I-N-E

Be like J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht
Brand new Glock hip-hop
Remote boombox lampin on my dresser
The God ain't no lesser as the comes to test ya
pound weight around the neck, daily
Nuff treasons nuff reasons Philip Bailey
Can't get enough of that funky
Rhymin astronomical, original, shit is
Heat up the ghetto put the pedal to the
Speed like Racer treat you like a wack and erase ya
Right off the pape I roll a big fat
Four-fifth on the hip, in the grip shit I'm ready
Get the for the jeep, let's bounce
Cruise avenues, get brews and sing the blues with the
Flex cassette in the deck
I'm in effect I move my neck while Son wreck
Oh what a feeling, I'm on the of steel and
I snatch up some skins for some sexual
Erything's kosher copasctetic, hip-hop moves me
Soothes me, I'm off like an uzi
But steps a doozy and bruise me
Now I'm before I start to freak it like a floozy
I wanna get big get true stunt
You what I want

(Whutcha Nine?) Fat beats for my rides
(So whutcha Nine?) Mad clips for my nines
(So whutcha want Nine?) A ill
And my name up in lights,