Luyện nghe bài hát Round Here

[Chorus: (Paul Wall)]
Guess it's a hood thing, woodgrain, grippin on the Friday*
My chain like the sun
Swag turned way up, 'cause I'm draped up, stay plush
I don't know y'all came from
But that's just how we do (that's-that's how we do it here)
how we do it 'round here (that's-that's how we do it 'round here)
That's how we do (that's-that's how we do it here)
That's how we do it 'round here (that's-that's-that's-that's-that's how we do it here)
how we do

[Verse 1: Paul
Knock, knock, who is it? Guess who come to pay a
It's the Mr. Blizzard, with the "here lizard, lizard"
Flyer than a flock of pigeons, the earlobes are
But if you try to test, get smoked like a brisket
Last palace, fast livin, Family Guy Peter Griffin
And my wallet is like turkeys at Thanksgiving
I grind hard, my full like Easter Mass
Paper long, my money stretchin yoga class
"Get Money", yeah that's my task, I'm throwed like a of trash
My wrists light up camera flash while commentators live in the past
But me and Koopa back on our mash from to Ledbetter
Got more than a mail shredder, 'cause 'round here we go getters

[Verse 2:
Chamillitary mayne, who knowin how I do, so it's time to turn up your tuner
radio play or not, they talk about me like a rumor (rumor)
And they hope my album will on the streets and come sooner (sooner)
I now renounce my throne as the King of
Hollywood, not true, been sick,
The inventors of the "what it do, " where the Don Kings of the candy
We don't mean to brag but we legends so act like you knew
we one notch below Pimp and Screw but we (way higher than you)
I'm skatin, no Daytons, Paul Wall to plate and (plate and)
Ya must've got us mistaken 'cause ain't no fakin (fakin)
Earthquakin, shakin (shakin), the realest in my state and (say what?)
The treat me like I'm God, they be like Alaykum, so vacant

[Verse 3: Wall]
'Round here the grind pays, it's all work and no
My pockets thick like Deltas and my Sprite's pink AKA's
Brace yourself, you'll be amazed, all can suck on these
Me and back in the game, I'm Reggie Bush, he's Drew Brees
I run the mic and he's so throwed, now all the blogs are pleased
'Cause they thought we fell off dry scalp and bad weave
"Get Ya Mind Correct" please, my cold like winter breeze
'Cause I'm grindin up all night like little kids on Eve
I keep the stacks on deck like a chair
The wristware give off a glare, so when ya stare, do so care
'Round we one hundred but them boys far from it
Everyday I'm in the paper like the comics, how we do it 'round