Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I banned if I do gets banned if I don't
So sometimes I and sometimes I won't
Puff mad crack a forty down the back
Sit fat and relax and my attack
Not the one to test I posess mad
My was blessed one bird in the nest
Chills with my peeps bouncing in jeeps
On the New York 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 role
Hollow tips in my clips money grip and my
Only when I react to the bullshit
So give me room to breathe and get up off
And the confessions for JEESuz
Plus I don't need to no sorrow
Eff it, the sun will still out tomorrow
Long as I'm breathing, needing, like Steven
Achieving, gettin cheese and
Representin lovely, Down Bronx major
With the flavor, I made ya, daze ya
My is mad ill if you front
You know what I

(Whutcha Nine?) Fat beats for my rides
(So whutcha 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 the dog shit complete in my cipher
Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper a viper
I'ma if I got it goin 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 the beat one time
when shit was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the homemade mics and of steel
from the roof, amp plugged in the street light
Everything right, jam over a street
Back to the lab I my pen and pad
Raw make a fleuredoscad
Had no dinero, enough get fo' chicken and rice
A forty a nickel bag to get nice
And now I make a million, and still son
It makes the heart pump, you know I want

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

Be Elmer J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht
new Glock non-stop hip-hop
Remote control lampin on my dresser
The God ain't no lesser as the pressure to test ya
Hundred pound weight the neck, daily
treasons nuff reasons like Philip Bailey
Can't get enough of funky stuff
astronomical, original, shit is phenomenal
Heat up the ghetto put the pedal to the
Speed Racer treat you like a wack rhyme and erase ya
Right off the pape I roll a big fat
Four-fifth on the hip, Heineken in the grip I'm ready
Get the for the jeep, let's bounce
Cruise avenues, get some brews and sing the with the
Funkmaster cassette in the deck
I'm in effect I move my while Son gets wreck
Oh what a feeling, I'm on the of steel and
I snatch up some skins for sexual healing
kosher copasctetic, groovy hip-hop moves me
Soothes me, I'm letting off an uzi
But first a doozy and bruise me
Now I'm choosy before I to freak it like a floozy
I wanna get big get paid stunt
You know I want

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