Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do gets banned if I
So sometimes I will and I won't
mad stick crack a forty down the back
Sit fat and relax and my attack
Not the one to test I mad finesse
My was blessed one bird in the nest
with my peeps steady bouncing in jeeps
On the New York streets urban concrete
I'm the man untestable, with the extraterrestrial
Fo'-fifty-fix celo, pop the top off the forty bottle
I'm not the one to follow, I'm not the role
tips in my clips money grip and my Glock
Only spits when I react to the
So give me to breathe and get up off DEEZ
And save the for JEESuz
I don't need to hear no sorrow
Eff it, the sun will still out tomorrow
Long as I'm breathing, needing, even Steven
Achieving, some cheese and
Representin lovely, Boogie Down Bronx
With the flavor, I made ya, daze ya
My is mad ill if you front
You know I want

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

let you know how I feel on the real
I steel it's like a jungle makes me wonder where my eel is
Hits the bricks skips the dog complete in my cipher
Temper Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper like a viper
strike if I got it goin for the jugular
Stretch you a copper
Stoppah, stoppah, but you stop me
Just clock me, just watch me blow up the G
Came a long way from, in the day
We did it for no pay, just hit the hay and
Sleep, up, write another rhyme
Hit the after dark drop the beat one time
That's when was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the homemade and wheels of steel
Backup from the roof, amp plugged in the street
Everything right, jam a street fight
Back to the lab I my pen and pad
Raw make a fleuredoscad
Had no dinero, enough get fo' wings and rice
A forty a nickel bag to get nice
And now I might make a million, and son
It makes the pump, you know what I want

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

Be Elmer J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht
Brand new Glock hip-hop
Remote boombox lampin on my dresser
The God no lesser as the pressure 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, is phenomenal
up the ghetto put the pedal to the metal
Speed like Racer treat you like a wack and erase ya
Right off the I roll a big fat spliff
on the hip, Heineken in the grip shit I'm ready
Get the keys for the jeep, let's
Cruise avenues, get some brews and the blues with the
Funkmaster Flex cassette in the
I'm in effect I move my while Son gets wreck
Oh a feeling, I'm on the wheels of steel and
I snatch up skins for some sexual healing
Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy hip-hop me
Soothes me, I'm off like an uzi
But first steps a and bruise me
Now I'm before I start to freak it like a floozy
I get big get paid true stunt
You know what I

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