Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do gets if I don't
So I will and sometimes I won't
Puff mad stick crack a forty the back
Sit fat and relax and plan my
Not the one to I posess mad finesse
My buddha was blessed one in the nest
Chills with my peeps steady bouncing in
On the New York streets hittin urban
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 grip and my Glock
Only spits when I to the bullshit
So give me room to and get up off DEEZ
And save the confessions for
Plus I don't need to hear no
Eff it, the sun still come out tomorrow
Long as I'm breathing, needing, even Steven
Achieving, gettin cheese and
Representin lovely, Boogie Bronx major
the project 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 up in lights, N-I-N-E

I'ma let you know how I feel on the
I pack steel it's like a jungle makes me wonder my eel is
Hits the bricks skips the dog shit complete in my
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, just hit the hay and
Sleep, up, write another rhyme
Hit the park after dark drop the beat one
when shit was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the homemade mics and wheels of
Backup from the roof, amp in the street light
Everything right, jam over a street
Back to the lab I my pen and pad
Raw lyrics a fleuredoscad
Had no dinero, enough get fo' wings and rice
A ounce 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 want Nine?) Fat beats for my
(So whutcha want Nine?) Mad 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
Brand new non-stop hip-hop
Remote control boombox lampin on my
The God ain't no as the pressure comes to test ya
Hundred pound weight the neck, daily
Nuff treasons nuff reasons like Philip
Can't get enough of that funky
astronomical, original, shit is phenomenal
Heat up the ghetto put the pedal to the
Speed like Racer treat you like a wack and erase ya
off the pape I roll a big fat spliff
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 blues the
Funkmaster Flex in the deck
I'm in I move my neck while Son gets wreck
Oh a feeling, I'm on the wheels of steel and
I snatch up some skins for sexual healing
Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy moves me
Soothes me, I'm off like an uzi
But first steps a doozy and me
Now I'm choosy before I start to it like a floozy
I wanna get big get paid stunt
You what I want

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