Luyện nghe bài hát Streets Disciple

Yeah, yeah,

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

The hood for no one
I've been through it from to Buicks, to body viewings
Car to court cases, to fly vacations
From wanting it all, to being the of your admiration
Imagination is they lack
It stops niggaz from gettin'
Feelin' on the block with loose cracks
Wisdom is vital for the survival of the street's

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

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

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

From the day you born
Starring out, a disciple
You had that gleam in eye
of the projects
From the day you were
Disciple
Yeah, disciple of the

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

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

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