Luyện nghe bài hát WND

It's summer, and I'm chillin on my steps with my little
Just like the videos, just all the little rappers do
We voice love to the heads we know walk past
and smilin, Livin out of a shot glass
And I talk when it comes to girls
Hey baby I'm just a nut tryin to fuck a
we could shut the world up
Let some into your life
she hypes an eyebrow up, like
"What do you mean?" and I buggin like
"If I was to fallowed you home would you me
Would you feed me, you pet me
Would I fuck you your sleepy?"
She said I'm creepy, and off
Too late, I got off on the fact you even stopped
You I'd treat you like an object
You knew I was a rapper, you it was the trend
For us rapper men to disrespect women infront of
Nonetheless; here comes that kid Sean that I used to be with
Went to school with, now this kid is talkin shit
Gettin touchy with his lips about
how I his bitch supposedly
the fuck is this supposed to be
Sean's got nuts, hes alone, I'm wit
Now tell me what the I'm supposed to do
I spew. (???) makes believers of cartoons
And I happen to know your bitch in until the afternoon
Honestly, my man, you don't me
Cause Everybody bleeds, now go and ask your seed who his be

I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"

Now kicked my ass, I ain't gonna lie, ain't gonna laugh
It wasnt fun, but fuck 'em, get my gun
Shit like that done in the world of rap
If they pushin on ya vibe, you a pussy if it slides
So I sprint up three flights, Get into the feet on the door
dirt and blood on the rug, and the wood floor
Couldn't believe my squad just there and watched
Word to God, boy tellin me to blame it on my cock
I'm amped, and I'ma shoot every out there
I'm ill, and I'm gonna prove that shit when I get downstairs
Into the bedroom, my passion aimed at the
Visualizing the top shelf, where the shoebox is
I push the top up, to fit my hand in
into the box in a frenzy, realizing that it's empty
Hand rests in the box, head festers in an open
I remember, I don't even own a gun

"What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What, (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm like "What, What, Kid What"
I'm like "What, What, Kid What"
I'm "What, What" (I'm like) "What Kid What"
I'm "What, What, What, What"

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Writers Die
Never Die
Writers Die