Luyện nghe bài hát Sum Shit I Wrote

Marks I erase like racism, I'm as large as a
is my escapism when I'm bubbly I just kick it
What I need you is understanding that I'm standing
On my own two, with my own crew

Toe cancer, I'm bad to the too, I'm prone to snap off
When I'm off that Cognac, I can't hold like a masseuse
I get loose like a turned from left right to tight
When 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 shit computers want to
Your style is Pascal, mine is 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 and with words I elope

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

It's that, coming from the go rapper
I wanna bone Pinkett and that hoe Patra
So keep on and you don't, now on
Ah on and you don't

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But comes a time you gotta get off of that booty
The facts of life I didn't from watching Tootie
But in the big city
But I like Tootie cause she got big titties

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