Luyện nghe bài hát Broccoli

Let's get sick wid it,
Sick wid it, baby,
Let's get wid it, baby
Said, I'm get so sick wid it, yeah
Said I'm get high

I don't need no doctor, I don't need no
All I is broccoli and a 40-oz to drink
Smokin' that now, takes me out
Smokin' that broccoli now, me out

I was bullshittin'
Bitch tried to hit me upside the head with her
talin' 'bout, "Who the you been doin' it to?
Comin' home always smellin' tuna fish and brew"

I said "Bitch, if you don't get up my talkin' face
I'ma slap you real
And I can almost assure you
it ain't gon' be no pretty sight"

24-7 3 fin
I pull out my dick and my name in my piss
Shoot the hundred fool, let's play for pink slips, slammin'
That there shit across the street? That ugly ass

Buy some sticky, you got the
Here go some Black 'n' Mild style, split it the middle
What's that? Oakland Crip? Nah it's that white widow
I was about to say cause they'd botha your ass
Up in the hospital, it out

I don't no doctor, I don't need no shrink
All I need is and a 40-oz to drink
Smokin' that now, takes me out
that broccoli now, takes me out
Smell me on one, check it out

Hit up for and hold it for ten, I'm true lung
Let's see who got the wind, get 'em sprung
Make 'em wanna back and spend, Afghani bomb
From juice and Gin

Fuck all of that Cristal-poppin', drinkin' shit, I'm from the block
Wheaties, Thunderbird, milk and Aftershock
Boom square wide country?, Wild Irish
Smugglin' and scotch, Jagermeister and Tequila shots

Drinkin' forty ounces was how I got my figure
Then I graduated to straight malt
So hah, let me take a swig of that Royal
What you puttin' on blunt huh? Hash oil

My Panamanian saha from San Francisco
On some marijuana farm down in San Luis
Wake yo' ass up Charlie Hustle, wake yo' ass up, why you
'Cause, nigga shit got my twaskin' my life nigga, shit

Smokin' broccoli now, takes me out
that broccoli now, takes me out
I don't no doctor, I don't need no shrink
All I is broccoli and a 40-oz to drink

Seein' and three's
Highly while I'm slidin' on a brim
Set of Z's and V's, spit Range Pimpin'
L-R P wannabe's, stuck up H O E's
Disease-infested back-polluted hoochie mamas, ooh ooh

Give a damn, make that 2 8 9, I had a V8
carburetor, four-barrel engine scram
Get gas, go in sideways, up like a philly
Ready, get that hop up away

Everybody got the and they ain't tryin' ta miss
We ride around the corner, nigga, there go Smith
Webulation a U-ey folker, oh as I'm hoppin' out
Damn my beeper, I got dinner at the house

The rules and regulations of the up in the yay
slap a bitch, silly if she gets off in my way
She's to all the brothers, forgive me grandma yay
Three or four different bitches, five or six different a day

I don't need no doctor, I don't need no
All I need is and a 40-oz to drink
Smokin' that now, takes me out
that broccoli now, takes me out

Let's get sick wid it,
Let's get wid it, baby