Luyện nghe bài hát Sum Shit I Wrote

Marks I erase racism, I'm as large as a bigot
Groove is my escapism I'm bubbly I just kick it
I need from you is understanding that I'm standing
On my own two, down with my own

Toe cancer, I'm bad to the bone too, I'm prone to off
I'm off that Cognac, I can't hold back like a masseuse
I get loose like a screw turned from left to tight
it's time for some action, I get Red's, "Tonight's Da Night"

An eye for an eye, a for his wife
Dissected, I'm on some hi-tech computers want to bite
Your is Pascal, mine is Basic and just instinct
I'm with the fam and ran scams, me and got up on big links

And if knowledge is the key, I'm the locksmith
Started a missionary way on my life, the mic I rust bostage
I switch styles like a channel controls that are remote
Engage in a page and words I elope

Walking the aisles with styles I freak the viles
Anti-Nazi when I rocks like a
At any rate, brothers gain interest because I loaned microphones
They couldn't the shit so they had to rent to own

like that, coming from the go rapper
I wanna Jada Pinkett and that hoe Patra
So on and you don't, now come on
Ah keep on and you

Sometime when I'm alone in my I stare at the wall
And in the back of my mind I hear a wack-ass
And I Alz-rhymers, then forget it, I get charged
Like a nigga in with the stolen card the credit

Fuck the script, the rap scene I'm trying to edit
My mellows call me, "Never", they be like, "Never's to get it"
too much, I'm much too, I do justice to poetics
That's why cats be like, "Fuck you, you, fuck you!"

Other studs come through to see I am up to
They be on the dick of crew that be giving us and buying us fruit
Like I got the hook up, brothers look out because they look
Rest in peace to 'Heavena', tons of rappers like Booker

Tee told me, "You gotta get out of the crib, get the world"
How you going to come off with the style that's
It's that, keep on, ha ha
It's like that, on

My foundation is in block of niggas that rock they hat cock
I'm real a fight with my rap, rappers I slap box
Back I got my rap, now get your glock out the black
Got tall flavor fat taste, the rat race is a rat race

Just you got Adidas with the fat laces
And the fro don't make you hip-hop, tou sorry for funk rap
Why is there so many cranks trying to rhyme, yo that
The real shit's starting to back

The go is where I'm from and where I'm at,
I started eating cat I was 10
Before dinner I was getting big dog like Glen
I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump and

But comes a time when you gotta get off of that
The facts of life I learn from watching Tootie
But living in the big
But I still like Tootie she got big titties

My is steep, I write rhymes on the incline
Splat guts plus fat nuts and lay up like a line
I'm slamming, on the one
I'm a bad man, you're just a son, come on