Luyện nghe bài hát Streets Disciple

Yeah, yeah,

You was born in the eighties, drove a Mercedes
Did a bid, comin' home to grown ass kid
Crack baby, to young thug, description might fit you,
Look around it might hit you, no joke, I wanna pistol with you
Shit comes faster than you think
Blood and white chalk makes pink, so what's that you?
Become a of habitat, the average cat
Won't see where it's at, or it's goin'

The waits for no one
been through it from Ewings to Buicks, to body viewings
Car chases to court cases, to fly
From wanting it all, to the object of your admiration
Imagination is what lack
It stops niggaz from gettin'
Feelin' trapped on the block with loose
Wisdom is for the survival of the street's disciple

From the day you were
out, a young disciple
You had gleam in your eye
of the projects
From the day you were
Street's
Yeah, disciple of the

stuck, slow as molasses in my actions
That's compliments of a spliff in the night life
In my flight jacket, adrenaline heightened, mimickin'
After watchin' him cut up Ruddock
In the gutter, which was once ghetto prophecy is now ghetto
Lookin' back at it, blow jobs from crack addicts
Gods wantin' no static, told some lil' niggaz they can have it
Coke baggin' and

They Will, let me describe him, a live one
I think that he was the true Son', not Jesus, but fearless
His ear was up on sounds too, he'd hear somethin'
Not to his likin', and say, "Son bitin' you"
He never got to see my debut,
But wild with hammers, niggaz frontin' couldn't stand it
him off the planet, left us in 9-2
With the philosophy of what arms do, a true disciple

the day you were born
Starring out, a disciple
You had that in your eye
Disciple of the
From the day you born
Street's
Yeah, disciple of the

Plug the up, I'm ready to rock, knockin
Reminiscing of pots of Pyrex, cook in the kitchen
Captain Hook to infants, it's like my folks is still on the benches
Surrounded by and henchmen, was a killer convention
1991, son, gold fronts on the facial, gun by the naval
could blaze you, we laced it with embalming fluid
Rhymin' to all this time
Fightin' 'bout how and Rakim would do it

impossible to us that we could ever leave
From the block, where the world was forever
Hell, if I ever let shovel me, son, in this cell again, fuck these
Devil policemen, leathers, I need them, riskin' my freedom
Burners in bubble coats, fuck a sermon from the neighborhood
He's sexing ho's, old fart, busting ones when he stroke
Pelle Pelle's, young stretch mark bellies
Babies born in a cycle, future

From the day you were
out, a young disciple
You had that gleam in eye
Disciple of the
the day you were born
Street's
Yeah, disciple of the