Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do banned if I don't
So sometimes I will and sometimes I
mad stick crack a forty down the back
Sit fat and relax and plan my
Not the one to test I mad finesse
My was blessed one bird in the nest
Chills with my peeps bouncing in jeeps
On the New York streets hittin urban
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
Hollow tips in my clips grip and my Glock
Only spits when I react to the
So give me to breathe and get up off DEEZ
And save the confessions for
Plus I don't need to hear no
Eff it, the sun will still come out
Long as I'm breathing, needing, even like
Achieving, gettin some and
lovely, Boogie Down Bronx major
With the project flavor, I ya, daze ya
My is mad ill if you front
You 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,

let you know how I feel on the real
I pack steel it's like a makes me wonder where my eel is
Hits the bricks skips the dog shit complete in my
Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper like a
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 way from, back in the day
We did it for no pay, rhymin hit the hay and
Sleep, up, write another rhyme
Hit the park dark drop the beat one time
when shit was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the homemade mics and of steel
Backup from the roof, amp plugged in the light
right, jam over a street fight
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 Nine?) Fat beats for my rides
(So want Nine?) Mad clips for my nines
(So whutcha Nine?) A ill posse
And my name up in lights,

Be like Elmer J. Fudd with the and the yacht
Brand new Glock non-stop
Remote control boombox on my dresser
The God no lesser as the pressure comes to test ya
Hundred pound weight around the neck,
Nuff treasons reasons like Philip Bailey
get enough of that funky stuff
Rhymin astronomical, original, shit is
Heat up the ghetto put the pedal to the
like Racer treat you like a wack rhyme and erase ya
Right off the I roll a big fat spliff
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 the blues with the
Funkmaster Flex cassette in the
I'm in effect I move my neck while Son wreck
Oh what a feeling, I'm on the of steel and
I snatch up skins for some sexual healing
Erything's copasctetic, groovy hip-hop moves me
Soothes me, I'm off like 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 true stunt
You what 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