Luyện nghe bài hát Speakers on Blast

It's not usual, the game be, all up on some shit
West Coasting, you can tell by my outfit
Red fitted, "Blood in, Blood out" shit
Empty jelly jars, nigga, in the couch shit
The mad rapper, Oscar the Grouch
Except I'm hopping out of cans, I'm pulling out shit
Dippin' the 4 though, X 3-D Polo
If hip-hop was the league, I'd be the motherfuckin
last shit was so-so, you should sign to Jermaine
I've been hard since I was
Niggas feel my pain, I make it without the strippers
Go against the grain, and put your back like some clippers
I bang and then I hang out at the Staples like Griffin
You can tell I'm getting money the way that house is sitting
I mash out the strip then like Nas I'm dippin
Feeling like God's Son, the way It Was Written

Them boys want they on blast
turn me down, turn me up every time them cops pass
Mashed on the gas, am I high, don't even ask
Cause I got another ounce up in the
Them want they music on blast
Don't turn me down, turn me up every time cops pass
Mashed on the gas, am I getting high, even ask
Cause I take 2 hits, and I pass

I see the cops in the rearview, why can't a motherfucker in the car
Feelin' Missy, why you all up in my grill
They know that I got bird stashed all up in my grill
Camouflage by the Armor All while it's sparkling off my
And I fuck hoes pray on Dwight Howard and Shaquille
Not them throwback rats they be on showin' hill
For real, I my first album sold 5 mil'
And you say to "He's broke"
Well how the hell am I ballin', Spalding
I did a couple of movies, now agents and calling
get to the phone right now cause balls is all in this bitch mouth
When did we start taking these out?
Now she gon' run her big mouth and tell her
You had her all up in the
Blowing yo cheese on Vuitton, and now that bitch is in the wind
And after the next draft, she gon' that cycle again
How you claimin' that bitch when she him?
again cause

[Big
Daddy Fat Sax, my are on your chin, but can you tell me where my dick's at?
Come order ghetto, head hunter, buster through the chit-chat
I skip to the lou, my bring the thunder, I'm the lightning that strikes twice
Motherfucker, me mass of, cause I run the plantation and I'm whooping niggas asses
If they disrespect the presentation, the Mason-Dixon, we facin' the basses that were missin' pimpin'
You can embrace it or come face to with total devastation
My mojo is never fadin', I'm in my Optimus transform
it up, heat it up, speed it up, that means I'm gone
Like gears, ahead of Buzz, Toy Story and club songs
Boy, gone, the A-T-L-iens are phoning
But I feel like a librarian, cause are being' loaned out like books
A castle full of crooks, rape and
They'll do anything for money, I bet misleading the


Not New England, but I pack a patriot
Not from Atlanta, but I got the
Not Chicago, but I'm a bear
I'm a bay area nigga, 49er,
I'm about my bread man, I ain't no
Now these bitch ass niggas as table butter
I'm my riches, magazines, street hustler
You can ask your uncles, daddies, mothers, and older brothers
But I used to through that yellow white
Sellin' that shit below the price
I'm a rare breed like the bike club, get it
Desperado like Amos, shout out to dynamite
I got my red cup, and some
What kind of you smoking pimp? Blue dream
My nigga let my hit that there hemp, do your
How woofers in your trunk? 4 15s