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 I posess mad finesse
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, with the extraterrestrial
Fo'-fifty-fix celo, pop the top off the ounce bottle
I'm not the one to follow, I'm not the model
Hollow tips in my money grip and my Glock
Only spits I react to the bullshit
So give me room to breathe and get up off
And save the for JEESuz
Plus I don't to hear no sorrow
Eff it, the sun will come out tomorrow
Long as I'm breathing, needing, like Steven
Achieving, some cheese and
Representin lovely, Boogie Bronx major
With the project flavor, I made ya, ya
My is mad ill if you front
You what I want

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

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 Piper, hyper like a viper
strike 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 up the spot G
Came a way from, back in the day
We did it for no pay, rhymin hit the hay and
Sleep, wake up, write another
Hit the park after drop the beat one time
when shit was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the mics and wheels of steel
Backup from the roof, amp in the street light
Everything right, jam a street fight
Back to the lab I my pen and pad
Raw lyrics a fleuredoscad
Had no dinero, get fo' chicken wings and rice
A forty ounce a nickel bag to get
And now I might a million, and still son
It the heart pump, you know what 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

Be like Elmer J. Fudd with the and the yacht
Brand new Glock hip-hop
Remote control boombox lampin on my
The God ain't no lesser as the pressure comes to ya
pound weight around the neck, daily
Nuff treasons nuff like Philip Bailey
Can't get enough of funky stuff
Rhymin astronomical, original, shit is
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, Heineken in the shit I'm ready
Get the for the jeep, let's bounce
Cruise avenues, get brews and sing the blues with the
Funkmaster Flex cassette in the
I'm in effect I move my neck while Son wreck
Oh a feeling, I'm on the wheels of steel and
I snatch up some skins for some sexual
Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy moves me
me, I'm letting off like an uzi
But first a doozy and bruise me
Now I'm choosy before I start to freak it a floozy
I get big get paid true stunt
You know 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,