Luyện nghe bài hát Duck Season

Scrape motherfuckers
This is my word, you see us
When you see us and shining
And building and on

niggaz just watch it, hear me
Only ones that who we got for
Is niggaz that we say peace to
Hear me, pay attention, put your on

Yo, my team be bellyaching hungry on the swarm again
niggaz bite dick, yo Son, it's on again
What up, he a move, try to assist it
Listen kid yo, you was born to be a but I'm a bishop

Back to the novel, you Son, logical
How you figure God, what, on the track, flip the obstacle
Now my rips the global
California to courts, it's over God so, taste the soul food

Remember baggy jeans, the in November
Shorty called me in December
But guess what, my got messed up
Autograph pressed up what, enough to blow your rest up

We that, Land O' Lake that
My rapper get you sent back
the gentlemens who bent that
Flash like Italians, la costra nostra

We movin' your hood like we supposed ta, flexin'
Lex and hold the settlement
So the bust the gun Boo
Like bad ass bitch in Dead Presidents

Add on, the billboard
Check it now, you get the dick award
It's jail, and it's the sixth floor
me, floating in the S.E., now let's see

Half of y'all built your vine from my stress tree
Faggots, homos, yo, my flavor liver than a
Stay militant kid, ya like bolo
You fucking idiot, playing with my but you be fearin' it

one, I'm guaranteed to make you take one
Please, y'all niggaz money's low
But could you come though
Set up shop, and get the fat

of y'all, mostly inspired by y'all
So what the now, link up with us, or put your shield down
Faggot, you fuck punk
We for cream nigga

You a pound crab? Nah let his hand swing
I ought to punch a hole in his palm with these ass rings
No more said, knew your ass was dead
When I saw the four reflecting off your shiny forehead

It's Wu-Tang nigga, nuttin' changed nigga
Still on a nigga, who tried to run game
Your version of perversion, fuckin' bitches on Persian
Washin' niggaz detergent, it's the surgeon

Slugs propels Bobby Steele's 12 gauge
page, "Daily Chronicle" reads
"Hell up in Gotham, heed and protect yo' seeds"
You fall autumn leaves, you lack tranquility

In your rap utilities, to with the abilities
Race like a sperm to the ovary
Microphone post tone like a phone
Ancient poems and poetry, old

Explosive head bullets, hooded
footed ninjas, who full metal jacket clips
And how to put it in you
your goods and your merchandise

For no purchase price, I'm certainly a
For your ice and curtains and
Come quietly, Wu-Tang Clan rules
Because of variety, so maintain high anxiety

And lead them to me, diary, ya Irie?
I need 18 points for my next joint, this high king
To make a deal, I be the one to
Steve Rifkind must have been

To somethin' so dope, it left Monica Lynch pussy drippin'
I fuck hundreds of bitches, and millions of dollars
And with thousands of scholars
My life saga the hill to the harbor

Legal kid brown in
Gave birth to MC's, thieves and robbers
We expensive whips and took worldwide trips
And my dick's sucked by the finest lips

Fancy delicatessens, and the world's refreshment
But none of the compare to the one-twenty lessons
Or my queen and my seeds, in the home that I in
Enter my zone get blown to 99

This rhyme has no limitations, this there's no hesitation
Collecting minds at the door, you want it niggaz it's
The flavors raw, what the fuck you I'm flowing for
It's rhyme and reason, the bullet

is foul and it's duck season
We at 'til we even motherfucker
Bad asses, times, lower classes
mine, straight shots in dirty glasses

Bring it to him, room service, pressure
And mad nervy, guns at the clergy
Ticallion, we ain't
Keep them niggaz seven-thirty

Picture this, the birdy
These bastards is Ol' and
With pins that be stabbing you
and needles, needles and pins

'Nuff said, dick in your mouth like Bled'
As I race track with thoroughbreds, the feds

Yo, my ice fly up on the keyboard son
ran up on me law, praising what we do by the lords
That's right, exile the fake, hit them niggaz weight
'em food, let the fake evaporate

Reconstruction, that's the science on my, production
Y'all niggas guess who son, left his nuts hungs
Switch, finger itch, starin at you like a
Maybe y'all snitched

Youse a loner, Adidas shell top I
Sip a Corona, read the Report, then bone her
Buy you some jewels, here's food
Not mean to be rude boo, check out the analoo

We in the mushrooms, chased the high in the custom
Baggy jeans, thick God, sliding through customs
Chill, y'all niggaz what time it is
Bond Beamers behind me on Bacardi Limon

Check out the pitch Nolan Ryan, he caught a slug for lyin'
Yeah, you was lyin', the cash, cryin'
Militia, rollin' in position, Blanca Cuban Link Christian
Lex back whistlin', fake fucks