Luyện nghe bài hát It's On, On Sight

(*Screeching tires, gunshots, glass, sirens and screaming*)
(3x)

They want problems; soon them want me waxed, on my ass
It's comin from the pen, say I owe 'em cash
Dwellin off the past and they it fast
But what fai'lize is I'll be quick to blast
Die hard cold killer all about my work
Dressed up like a in a mini-skirt
in doin dirt - shootin niggaz in the shirt
Put the pistol in his and make it hurt, ooh
Cutlass, guzzlin down a 40-ounce bottle of Swiss liquor brewsky
talkin to a standin outside the movie theater
sittin on top of the hood of my
Smokin on a non-filter pink pack edition cigarette
Clove-family affiliated cancer stick +GANESH+ beadie
the fuck? W here's the peace treaty?
Full of my Wheaties, yes indeedy, don't shoot no beebees
Programmed to amputate anything that off in my way
Then I put them same left over bullets up in my A.K.
I can't 'til we bump heads

It on, on day and night no matter what I'm dumpin'
I'm tryin to see you niggas somethin' (2x)

"I'm heated, them cheated" - 3X (in background)
We had a meetin', 'posed to been squashed (3x)

Shit was 'posed to been

I've got a hunch; meet me at the Olive Garden let's do lunch
and dem tried to pass the buck and set us up for lumps
Sons of bitches must think we chumps
Time to out the pipe bombs and the pumps

Nigga fuck and pull lick, we kick in the door with full clips
Out of Magnums packin when we blast 'em we all out for the
FOol, 40-Water never slip, saw the niggaz quick and then
Before we spark the pipe bombs, and blow niggaz shit to
side-ways up off they block, gears in a big block
All out non stop riders our casket drop
We smashin, blastin on any, while I many
Dash and blastin double two-three's, fuck the

One of my big dudes up out HPA shot me a today
He up in Bay three striker
Doin 25 with a L he won't tell on one of his
high-ranked in position who wears a diaper
the shit stacked on the side of his waist
blood splattered all on the wiper
tried to take his face - caught him up in his Viper
Loose as a goose ass out to down him like a sniper
hyperventilated started seizures
No in his legs, arms, or his sneakers

We stand tall, like Manute Bol with balls than RuPaul
Strapped with 4-4's down to all y'all
Don't want to see us on a mission
150 round drum 45 bitten
No remorse hit by the hardcore fo'
Leave him in his front seat
70 rounds his front window
Ain't no with G's
Fill 'em up to they neck from knees
Leave 'em dyin' in the as we escape on they goldeeze