Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do gets banned if I
So I will and sometimes I won't
Puff mad stick crack a down the back
Sit fat and relax and my attack
Not the one to test I mad finesse
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 ounce
I'm not the one to follow, I'm not the model
Hollow tips in my money grip and my Glock
Only spits when I to the bullshit
So me room to breathe and get up off DEEZ
And save the confessions for
I don't need to hear no sorrow
Eff it, the sun will still come out
Long as I'm breathing, needing, even Steven
Achieving, some cheese and
Representin lovely, Boogie Bronx major
With the flavor, I made ya, daze ya
My behavior is mad ill if you
You what I want

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

I'ma let you how I feel on the real
I pack it's like a jungle makes me wonder where my eel is
Hits the bricks the dog shit complete in my cipher
Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper, like a viper
I'ma strike if I got it goin for the
Stretch you a copper
Stoppah, stoppah, but you stop me
Just me, just watch me blow up the spot G
a long way from, back in the day
We did it for no pay, just hit the hay and
Sleep, wake up, write another
Hit the after 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 street
Everything right, jam over a street
to the lab I grab my pen and pad
Raw lyrics a fleuredoscad
Had no dinero, enough get fo' chicken wings and
A forty ounce a nickel bag to get
And now I make a million, and still son
It makes the heart pump, you what I want

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

Be Elmer J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht
Brand new Glock non-stop
Remote control boombox on my dresser
The God ain't no lesser as the pressure comes to ya
Hundred pound weight the neck, daily
Nuff treasons nuff reasons Philip Bailey
Can't get of that funky stuff
Rhymin astronomical, original, is phenomenal
Heat up the ghetto put the pedal to the
Speed like Racer treat you like a wack rhyme and ya
Right off the pape I a big fat spliff
Four-fifth on the hip, Heineken in the grip shit I'm
Get the for the jeep, let's bounce
Cruise avenues, get some brews and sing the blues the
Funkmaster cassette in the deck
I'm in effect I move my neck while Son wreck
Oh what a feeling, I'm on the wheels of and
I snatch up some skins for some sexual
Erything's kosher copasctetic, hip-hop moves me
me, I'm letting off like an uzi
But steps 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 what I want

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