Luyện nghe bài hát Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do gets banned if I
So sometimes I will and I won't
Puff mad stick a forty down the back
Sit fat and and plan my attack
Not the one to I posess mad finesse
My buddha was blessed one in the nest
with my peeps steady bouncing in jeeps
On the New York streets hittin urban
I'm the man untestable, the extraterrestrial 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 clips money and my Glock
spits when I react to the bullshit
So give me to breathe and get up off DEEZ
And save the confessions for
Plus I don't to hear no sorrow
Eff it, the sun still come out tomorrow
Long as I'm breathing, needing, even like
Achieving, gettin some and
Representin lovely, Down Bronx major
With the project flavor, I ya, daze ya
My is mad ill if you front
You know what I

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

I'ma let you know how I on the real
I pack steel it's like a makes me wonder where my eel is
Hits the bricks skips the dog shit in my cipher
Temper like Rowdy Piper, hyper like a viper
I'ma strike if I got it goin for the
Stretch you a copper
Stoppah, stoppah, but you stop me
Just clock me, just watch me up the spot G
a long 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
That's shit was real, no phonies no baloney
Just the mics and wheels of steel
from the roof, amp plugged in the street light
Everything right, jam a street fight
Back to the lab I my pen and pad
Raw lyrics make a
Had no dinero, enough get fo' wings and rice
A forty a nickel bag to get nice
And now I make a million, and still son
It makes the pump, you know what I want

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

Be like J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht
new Glock non-stop hip-hop
Remote control boombox on my dresser
The God no lesser as the pressure comes to test ya
pound weight around the neck, daily
Nuff 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 like Racer treat you a wack rhyme and erase ya
Right off the 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 and sing the blues with the
Flex cassette in the deck
I'm in effect I my neck while Son gets wreck
Oh what a feeling, I'm on the of steel and
I snatch up some skins for sexual healing
Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy moves me
Soothes me, I'm off like an uzi
But first a doozy and bruise me
Now I'm before I start to freak it like a floozy
I wanna get big get paid true
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