Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I banned if I do gets banned if I don't
So sometimes I will and sometimes I
Puff mad stick a forty down the back
Sit fat and and plan my attack
Not the one to test I mad finesse
My buddha was blessed one in the nest
Chills with my peeps steady in jeeps
On the New streets hittin urban concrete
I'm the man untestable, the extraterrestrial flow
Fo'-fifty-fix celo, pop the top off the forty bottle
I'm not the one to follow, I'm not the model
Hollow tips in my clips money and my Glock
Only spits when I to the bullshit
So me room to breathe and get up off DEEZ
And save the confessions for
Plus I don't to hear no sorrow
Eff it, the sun will still out tomorrow
as I'm breathing, needing, even like Steven
Achieving, gettin cheese and
lovely, Boogie Down Bronx major
With the flavor, I made ya, daze ya
My behavior is mad ill if you
You know I want

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

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 bricks skips the dog complete in my cipher
Temper Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper like a viper
I'ma if I got it goin for the jugular
Stretch you a copper
Stoppah, stoppah, but you can't me
Just clock me, just watch me blow up the G
a long way from, back in the day
We did it for no pay, just hit the hay and
Sleep, wake up, write rhyme
Hit the park dark drop the beat one time
That's when shit was real, no no baloney
Just the mics and wheels of steel
Backup from the roof, amp plugged in the light
Everything right, jam over a street
to the lab I grab my pen and pad
Raw lyrics make a
Had no dinero, enough get fo' chicken and rice
A ounce a nickel bag to get nice
And now I might make a million, and son
It makes the heart pump, you know what I

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

Be like Elmer J. with the mansion and the yacht
new Glock non-stop hip-hop
Remote control boombox lampin on my
The God ain't no lesser as the comes to test ya
pound weight around the neck, daily
Nuff treasons nuff reasons like Philip
Can't get enough of that stuff
Rhymin astronomical, original, is phenomenal
Heat up the put the pedal to the metal
Speed like Racer treat you like a wack rhyme and 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 some brews and sing the with the
Funkmaster Flex in the deck
I'm in effect I my neck while Son gets wreck
Oh what a feeling, I'm on the wheels of and
I snatch up some skins for sexual healing
Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy moves me
Soothes me, I'm letting off an uzi
But first steps a doozy and me
Now I'm choosy before I start to freak it a floozy
I wanna get big get true stunt
You what I want

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