Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do gets if I don't
So sometimes I will and I won't
Puff mad stick crack a forty the back
Sit fat and relax and my attack
Not the one to test I posess mad
My buddha was one bird in the nest
Chills with my steady bouncing in jeeps
On the New York hittin urban concrete
I'm the man untestable, with the 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 in my clips money grip and my Glock
Only when I react to the bullshit
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 come out
Long as I'm breathing, needing, even like
Achieving, some cheese and
lovely, Boogie Down Bronx major
With the project flavor, I made ya, 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 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 a jungle makes me wonder where my eel is
Hits the bricks the dog shit complete in my cipher
Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper a viper
I'ma strike if I got it goin for the
Stretch you a copper
Stoppah, stoppah, but you can't me
Just clock me, just watch me up the spot G
Came a way from, back in the day
We did it for no pay, just hit the hay and
Sleep, wake up, another rhyme
Hit the park after dark the beat one time
when shit was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the homemade and wheels of steel
from the roof, amp plugged in the street 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' wings 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 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 up in lights, N-I-N-E

Be Elmer J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht
Brand new Glock non-stop
control boombox lampin on my dresser
The God ain't no lesser as the comes to test ya
Hundred pound weight around the neck,
Nuff nuff reasons like Philip Bailey
Can't get of that funky stuff
Rhymin astronomical, original, shit is
Heat up the put the pedal to the metal
Speed like Racer treat you like a rhyme 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 what a feeling, I'm on the wheels of and
I snatch up some skins for some sexual
Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy hip-hop me
Soothes me, I'm off like an uzi
But first steps a doozy and me
Now I'm choosy before I to freak it like a floozy
I wanna get big get paid stunt
You know what I

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