Luyện nghe bài hát YM Banger

(Gudda Gudda)

Yeah, Ok Im leanin to the left, fla-flag in my pocket
Star Treck fly, unidentified objects
Im all about my decimals
Retarded in the booth, they say I got a flow
than your average, you rappers is ass backwards
Gudda crack, and you niggas is crack addicts
The simple
You cut the check and I in the green, like Im rakin the grass in
Pretty bitches damn near feint when passin
Call my whip Martin but the first name
Potato niggas get mashed when Im spazzin
Think you with me put your cash in
Nah I it
I was and reckless when Pete say he was about it
You niggas is Ducks, Howards,
Kill the competition and niggas with flowers
rap shit is ours
Gudda, Bitch!

(Lil Wayne)

Uh, back in it
Black menace
Black clothes, Black
semi,
Ive never sat in
That offend me
Try or Maybach
I got stacks, yeah
Paychecks on
And I still payback
And I still play that
I kill on
And you do shit but get money all day
Put some shoes on my bullets now they runnin way
YM Young Mula, Young all day
Where the drugs so sweet, like on yay
Which one of yall say, you want drama Im
I your ass, like a muthaficking lineman
Stack of paychecks, with a bunch of commas
Still red, like a old 49er
Fuck shittin on ya, dump the toilet on ya
Wee-Weezy F Baby bitch, I'm hotter than
Ughhh!!!

(Jae Millz)

Ma-Mama aint make me to homies
She me to make history
So thats my Extra-curicular activity
Bulldozer boy, and the is the Industry
Two I Love in the World, Good Head and Victory
You aint doing it big and broke kidding me
Your whip up to date, and your hoes look like Mr. T
is Misery, no Cathy Bates
Come at me sideways, my slap ya straight
Yeah, Im a Big so you know I smash your ace
Leave the club with ya girl, send her home an ashy face
is a gamble, but its my casino
Pretend that your the loser, I hope that she got
I hope the got life insurance cause Ima kill it
And all you wack ass rap niggas dying it
Im so harlem, but still starving
Pockets fat as fuck, like all do is eat margarine
Millz!

(Tyga)

Say-Say-Say, Put the
Say,Put the in the pot
up the notch
Burn the song a Stove-Top
Its finger hot
His pitch flip cause the nigga
My hit, like the pitch was soft
Niggas balled
She dropped drawers she poppin off
Her pussy cross guard, but, I stop at all
I smash in the car, fuck the fucking law
I bet gone, who wanna make it done
The shit that we up on
Shittin on em like hay in the
Hey they say money talks
And, man you dont at all
You shop at
My two thumbs up, like using analogues
I shit, for the recognition bitch
Jesus as my witness, say
I you niggas flame flicker
I melt
skin aint drippin