Luyện nghe bài hát YM Banger

(Gudda Gudda)

Yeah, Ok Im leanin to the left, in my right pocket
Star Treck fly, unidentified flying
Extraterrestrial Im all my decimals
Retarded in the booth, they say I got a special
Sicker your average, you rappers is ass backwards
Gudda spit crack, and you niggas is addicts
The simple
You cut the check and I rake in the green, Im rakin the grass in
Pretty bitches damn feint when they passin
Call my whip Martin but the first name
Potato niggas get mashed when Im spazzin
Think you fucking me put your cash in
Nah I it
I was young and reckless when Pete say he was it
You is Ducks, Howards, Cowards
Kill the and shower niggas with flowers
This rap shit is
Gudda, Bitch!

(Lil Wayne)

Uh, Uptown in it
Hollygrove Black
Black clothes, tennis
semi,
Ive sat in Hemi
That would me
Try Maybach or
I got stacks, yeah
Paychecks on
And I still want
And I still dont that
I kill on
And you dont do but get money all day
Put some shoes on my bullets now they runnin way
YM Young Mula, Money all day
the drugs so sweet, like honey on yay
Which one of yall say, you want Im honoured
I blitz your ass, a muthaficking lineman
Stack of paychecks, with a whole bunch of
Still wear red, a old 49er
shittin on ya, dump the whole toilet on ya
Wee-Weezy F Baby bitch, I'm than Uganda
Ughhh!!!

(Jae Millz)

Ma-Mama aint make me to homies
She me to make history
So thats my Extra-curicular activity
boy, and the Target is the Industry
Two I Love in the World, Good Head and Victory
You aint doing it big and broke stop me
Your whip aint up to date, and your hoes look Mr. T
is Misery, no Cathy Bates
Come at me sideways, my money'll slap ya
Yeah, Im a Big so you know I smash your ace
Leave the club ya girl, send her home with an ashy face
Love is a gamble, but its my
Pretend that your the loser, I hope that she got
I hope the game got life cause Ima kill it
And all you wack ass rap niggas dying it
Im so harlem, eating but still
Pockets fat as fuck, like all they do is eat
Millz!

(Tyga)

Say-Say-Say, Put the
Say,Put the in the pot
Crank up the
the song from a Stove-Top
Its licking hot
His pitch flip the nigga flop
My shit hit, like the pitch was
cotton balled
She dropped drawers cause she off
Her pussy cross guard, but, I dont at all
I in the car, like fuck the fucking law
I bet daddy gone, who make it done
The shit that we up on
Shittin on em hay in the barn
Hey they say money talks
And, man you speak at all
You at mini-malls
My two thumbs up, like using analogues
I wreck shit, for the recognition
as my witness, say envision
I bore you niggas flicker
I melt
skin aint drippin