Luyện nghe bài hát Hustlers

Dre, he a O.G
Nas, he a QB-QB G
Do the

Way before The Firm, like in the day
Nas was the first New nigga rappin' with Dre
So of course I got a track to it back to your face
The one kid that would've Aftermath that got away
But we still get like every several years
To sprinkle, a bit of Heaven for your ears
Relax sippin' Cliquot in Rio, fuckers
Low-key, know G's, but it's Gucci luggage
I Cape Cod, and watching fly bitches with grey eyes
in a tub of KY to get my day by
I to celebrate, why? - cause I can vision
Collages and images of my lies no regret to hate
So every breath I take, is all the rules
It's hard for you to like you at high altitude
So the Patron, it's on heathens, The God's back
body, Mr. Jones never leaving

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top
Make that cake, cop two fivers
Pimps and players, platinum
East to West Coast we
Hustlers, dealers, riders
Make that cake, cop two five
and players, platinum diamonds
East to West we riders

He a O.G
(Mix that a QB-QB true G)
(What you got's) A concoction of some different ghetto
(West Coast kill the tracks) Coast gunshots
He a O.G
(Mix that with a QB-QB G)
(What you got's) A concoction of some different blocks
(West kill the tracks) East Coast gunshots

1995, eleven years the day
I'm in the record shop choices to make
"Illmatic" on the top shelf, "The Chronic" on the homie
Wanna cop but only got a twenty on me
So fuck it, I stole both, spent the twenty on a dub
Ripped the package off "Illmatic" and that
For my niggas it was too complex Nas rhymed
I was the Compton nigga with a "New York State of Mind"
Inside the dope house up sherm, bangin' The Firm
Dre was king then so I my turn
Fast forward, now I'm makin 'em
Ended my peers careers, hollered at Nas, a lesson was learned"
So I reconciled my differences he did with Jigga
I stopped beefin' with niggas, cause I'm "Ether" to
Comb the earth 'til no one left
"If I the World" I summons all you weak rap niggas to death

He a O.G
(Mix that with a QB-QB G)
(What you got's) A concoction of some different blocks
(West Coast kill the tracks) East Coast

Yo, the Jordans
Come off the game with a fortune walking, you a walking coffin'
The musket I tucked it, you it I bust it
You're talking, so I lay often
I wait patient, to tape hatin'
Fuck ass niggas, get bucked ass
Pluck ashes - of cigars, you fooling with Nas
That's my name and I with Rugers this time
And if I'm that "Soul Plane" movie's the bomb
Word to my mom's name to my arm
You can't me, embalm me, calm me or harm me
Rob me or these bullets I'm busting
See malarky you yappin'
I up the tripod to put the gatling on, and I start clapping
Nasty man, bagging grams and running from cops
To a mill' on the hand, a mill' on the watch, I'm fucking Doc

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top
Make that cake, cop two fivers
and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast we
Hustlers, dealers, riders
that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum
East to West Coast we