Luyện nghe bài hát Sticky Icky

I got sticky-icky... (3 x's)
I got that sticky-icky...blue shizzle for yo grizzle nizzle...
Fa'shizzle. fo'sheezaayy!

[I got that sticky-icky...blue chronic for yo shizzle nizzle...
In yo' grizzle. fo'sheezaayy...
I got that sticky-icky...blue bonic chronic for yo nizzle...
Fa'shizzle. fo'sheezaayy!

1:
OOH WEE! Nigga got that sticky weed! Get it in a swisher,
it to my nigga. Mothafucka better pick up a gun, you better prepare
Got my eyes closed, let the go everywhere
45 on the freeway, nigga le-way
Higher then a kite while I'm through the alley
Pass me a black and white, But my boy cause me and his kids is tight
And the weed is lime-green, betta catch it from a seed
And it was callin me...oh yeah. I can't wait 'til this in the air
everywhere...
I hail...a little bitty nigga that was sellin the on the Clair
And the devil is here...and he your soul. To rot with his in hell, hell...
Then again they could put a nigga in jail...when I'm just get by
But I use to sell...and now I it alone 'cause I'm doin well, well..
I sold out!
I can do what I wanna. My baby momma want money. I never out!
Hey, bitch hold up. And try to me all thawed-ed out
Man, I'ma be up. No doubt! I'm blowin up...

2:
Rap and the crack, and the dice, like when I get on
And it'll be the Dope Man. And nigga sold crack
And man...humiliation to the black man, black man...
My momma smoke weed, my daddy smoke
Hell, we all weed...
So I'm havin my fun, so give me what me need,
I like ta got up in "High Times", I even gotta dail for my "0-9-9"
Dail for the chron, nigga, don't let the cops
'cause be runnin wit mine, like we got rock
Feelin fine, and my heart's runnin
I get the drama and it's comin, a c'mon...
(Inhales) "What you do?" "It's on you, wayy...all day everyday" hey...
Fuck! Gotta do shit. Got to do
A nigga really got and bills, wit the crew
I'ma pay them nigga, you already knew-baby baller I all my trues
"How does it relate to weed?" "Fuck the weed! Relate to me. The real nigga the T.H.C.
And no G.H.B...these are the days. Roll me a sweet! A-c'mon! A-c'mon!

I'm up... (8 x's)
(Chronic, chronic, chronic...)

3:
I'm ready for the war...still got to let the weed cure
Watch for the with STD sores, blessed in the rythm I got to get soar
And full of adrenaline...in your...mellinium...full of my
I'll be in the back wit titenium..."damn, that's the I'm smokin'"
Weed got a mothafucka thinkinn...Yeah. Up, jumped in the cab and rushed, but B cant catch the bus. I'm to see my broad. And fuck y'all niggaz, I'm in love. Ain't nobody finna stop me, dawg...
"What's with the dreads? You might be to mind ya bidness there, yellow man."
Man fuck you nigga! Young nigga to the hood, dawg. I got the weed and I'ma the bread, yeah...uh...
On the freeway coasting we was riding a limo. Fuck that.
Windows was tinted. It's me and like Sizzler-crush grass.
it finished, we puffed puffed and pass (give it back!)
And Im still on point, I got my mind on the glass
"Ey, why the you not driving fast? Hurry up, I got ass-to-mash.
And I'm there.