Luyện nghe bài hát Guess Who's Back

to me man
This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the motherfucking up
We'll get right into the proceedings this
Headphones are distorting, bring it down a bit
Okay, now we with it
The boy Face on the bass line, - Mob!
to New York City, it's ya boy Young Hov' chea
Kanye on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's going on now?
Can I talk to for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute
Just gimme a minute of ya time - I don't want much (whoo!)
Lemme talk to motherfuckers, uhh

who's bizack?
You still crack in my clothes
Don't make me have to relapse on hoes
Take it back out to them roads
When I was hugging it, niggas do nothing with it
Straight from the with it, came from the dirt
I emerged from it all a stain on my shirt
You can blame my old earth, for the shit she in me
with me, pain plus work
Shit she made me milk this game for all worth
That's right, niggas can't fuck with me
I'm guts every time, drag my nuts every time
Homey, we make a great don't we?
Me and the Face Mob, every time we
it y'all, y'all niggas playing basic ball
I'm on the block like I'm eight tall
Homey, I'm in the drop the AC on
why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!

Guess bizack?
Back on the with the old Face Mob
Mack Mittens and
make me relapse
Back to the block the fo'
Cuz this street is all I know

the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoon
Trying to make me thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, rock stars and
clothes wanna run in my room
But guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face Mob
Started with an eightball, gotta get this dawg
Give a break, nah, you know how the game go
Fuck you I slang fo', to go against the grain (no)
I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper
I fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88
Don't got no wholesale, that ain't how I wanna run it
Here take these stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend do
The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the fool
Money is an issue, and on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
Ya block warm, I come by with the fizzle
And fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the time
We go to war and you making a dime (ha ha!)
Cause I got, shit to lose, a nigga out here payin his
My walking gotta get him some shoes
It's a new doing, lemme give ya the rules
Get line and I'ma give ya the blues
a new game doing, lemme give ya the rules
Get outta line and give ya the blues, whoa!

Guess who's
The boy B. Mizack, a.k.a. Mr.
Turn a whole one from a half a brick, I mastered this
You can smell it the plastic rips
A hot make ya swell up if ya gasket clicked
You can make ya chips up, ya don't have to pitch
Play them like a safety, watch the traffic switch
Young'n never fake, and you'll get past the blitz
And keep ya whole hood on flip, on box-spring
Mack and shit, low old box of things
Strictly glassy shit, I hug the block like a quart of
Shit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a
Till like deuce in the morning, with the old
Slanging loose quarters, this Philly cat back (had it)
Still fucking with crack addicts
Still busting with black-matic

Guess bizack?
Back on the block the old Face Mob
Mack and Hov'
Don't make me
Back to the block the fo'
Cuz this street shit is all I