Luyện nghe bài hát Ice Cream

Young Money, syrup in the big
Time to do the thing, word to your wrist watch
Shoot the Glock til it burn, til my wrist
Rims hella big, tires like Chris Rock
Hold the gun like O-Dog
Shoot a nigga in his face, his nose off
the girls say my name like roll call
Pain killers got a nigga to doze off
Big shit, talk big shit, nigga
Big bread like a picnic nigga
the whole game like the hit-stick nigga
Money spread like germs: get nigga
Yea, and them other niggas
1-900: who it? I deliver
Concrete shoes won't in the river
I care if you was Michael Phelps my nigga
I'm than the motherfucking Alps my nigga
I'm than the motherfucking stealth my nigga
Money shit, top-shelf my nigga
We the motherfuckers like my nigga
Ahem, flow syringes
Yea I'm in my mode, got a code like Da
I was in the trenches, now I'm in the
And everybody your back when you're in the front
You never safe, stop playing with a gangsta
Bring it to his face and he ran a flanker
Bend the girl over, put her on her ankles
I'm all over ice cream beat like sprinkles
"Why you", if you's a hater
I'm eating, a waiter
Pistol on my hip: Raider
Holla at guala, zoom later
Young Tune nigga, nigga
And if you think sweet, buy a room nigga
Damu
I'm on my shit
She give me good like she studied at Cambridge
Lighting up a blunt
Stupid swag like a motherfucking runt
And I be with my dog a motherfucker hunting
Every day of the week is the first of the
Audemars Piguet with the in the face
Can't tell the time cause the diamonds in the
We can get it popping like a semi
And if you got beef I put the on a patty
Rockstar tatted, big-money
Running this shit, now I'm feeling
I'm on a bitch, getting sea sick
Stop playing, I'm fresher a degree stick
Street shit, well, of course I smoke mad
I'm on my high-horse, don't shoot me down, I land feet flat
Then walk a million miles New Orleans on my back
Ha, I need a
And when it comes to hoes, man, I got a
Finger on the button, just stuntin'
If you ain't the bank teller, tell me nothin'
Kush so you can smell me comin'
Bitch, I go hard like the boy "300"
You think you kick it, boy we puntin'
Young baby we the shit weak stomachs
No Ceilings