Luyện nghe bài hát Bakin' Soda In Minnesota

52 carat blue
Rhymin', interior designin',
You can shake cheddar me on the mic
Hit point, hold your money when you're rollin' the dice, baby
Uhh.. you go crash-and-burn
Or wake up in the morning cash to earn, tiga
it homie get good with me
If i can find your hood again
Who is that in the yo couldn't be
All the way out here, yeah t
Russian, get the sparked
Get the started
And watch yo back fo the
cold-hearted

We got soda
All the way down in
We got bakin
in minnesota

I got a for Adidas, boss
But I betcha know what my Fila's cost, do ya
On chew, like dem pit bulls
And no way you can touch my....cool
The floor at the Marriot
You know, me and my chill there a lot

I sit alone the mic's on
With every time that the fight's on, kill 'em
I remember rhymes used to with nets
Flight at the high with jets
You know Al Capone stretched tryi' to the sets
And I'm teflon down, t shirts and
Rhymes you can taste, Rhymes, Rhymes
Rhymes you can buy at the candy
You who I am, I'm like credit card scam
Hot soulfood, greens and yams
Extra-curricula, netting riddicula
Hit the cloud the bear or the fiddila
Shouldn've lied, I coulda a good friend to ya
Now i got to get rid of ya

We got soda
All the way down in
We got soda
Down in

I told my mom somethin' made her cry
her in the eye and said rappers don't die
We not have an' tour, but we gon get by
So of us gonna be in hell high, kickin'
Now put the rhyme on a beam
Now rock it up, and it up,
And try to grind triple cream
get caught with the same scheme
Meaning don't get with the same thing, King
like you got to be bald
'cause and niggaz wanna see you go far
I they mad when I ticks them off
But I'm a hyena so i got to laugh and break off

The hot wax real fatal
Sup'd up to perfection like a on a turntable
They say Gretta's got a new
And be aiming his gat like a crooked letter, foreva
I hit the night stormy weather
And if you brag about freak, i'mma say mine's way better
I rotate the hands of a clock
And find ways to make my rap all on your block
You better knock on the door
And lay them all on the floor
'cause i think want more tiga
I blow em out a flat tire
And hit the for Richard Pryor
Then em all straight liars
The corks in me the tail of a fox
So get the grease hot,
Or your tigaz'll be