Luyện nghe bài hát Sticky Icky

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

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

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

2:
Rap and the crack, and the dice, like I get on bracklin'
And it'll be the Dope Man. And that nigga sold
And man...humiliation to the black man, black man...
My momma smoke weed, my daddy smoke
Hell, we all weed...
So I'm my fun, so give me what me need, baaby
I ta got up in "High Times", I even gotta dail for my nigga "0-9-9"
Dail for the chron, nigga, let the cops come
'cause be runnin wit mine, like we got rock
Feelin fine, and my heart's already
I get the drama and steady comin, a c'mon...
(Inhales) "What you do?" "It's on you, wayy...all day everyday" hey...
Fuck! do shit. Got thangs to do
A nigga really got and bills, wit the crew
I'ma pay nigga, you already knew-baby baller I call all my trues
"How it relate to weed?" "Fuck the weed! Relate to me. The real nigga with 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 women STD sores, blessed in the rythm I got to get soar
And of adrenaline...in your...mellinium...full of my drink
I'll be in the back wit titenium..."damn, the shit I'm smokin'"
Weed got a mothafucka thinkinn...Yeah. Up, jumped in the cab and rushed, but B cant catch the bus. I'm goin to see my broad. And fuck y'all niggaz, I'm in love. Ain't nobody stop me, dawg...
"What's with the dreads? You might be wanting to mind ya there, yellow man."
Man fuck you nigga! Young nigga to the hood, dawg. I got the and I'ma break the bread, yeah...uh...
On the freeway like we was riding a limo. Fuck that.
Windows was tinted. It's me and it's like grass.
'Til it finished, we puffed and pass (give it back!)
And Im still on point, I got my mind on the hour
"Ey, why the fuck you not driving Hurry up, I got ass-to-mash.
And I'm there.