Luyện nghe bài hát Ice Cream

Young Money, syrup in the big
Time to do the thing, that's word to your watch
Shoot the Glock til it burn, til my wrist
Rims hella big, tires like Chris Rock
Hold the gun sideways O-Dog
a nigga in his face, knock his nose off
Make the say my name like roll call
Pain killers got a nigga to doze off
Big shit, nigga talk big shit,
Big bread: like a picnic nigga
the whole game like the hit-stick nigga
Money spread like germs: get sick
Yea, and fuck them other
1-900: who want it? I
Concrete shoes help in the river
I don't care if you was Michael Phelps my
I'm higher than the motherfucking Alps my
I'm flyer than the stealth my nigga
Young shit, top-shelf my nigga
We the like MILF my nigga
Ahem, flow like
Yea I'm in my mode, got a code like Da
I was in the trenches, now I'm in the
And watch your back when you're in the front
You ain't never safe, playing with a gangsta
Bring it to his and he ran like a flanker
Bend the over, put her hands on her ankles
I'm all over this ice cream beat like
"Why thank you", if a hater
I'm eating, you's a
Pistol on my hip: Raider
Holla at your guala, later
Young Tune nigga, typhoon
And if you you're sweet, buy a room nigga
Damu
I'm on my gang
She give me good brain like she at Cambridge
up a motherfucking blunt
Stupid fruity swag a motherfucking runt
And I be with my dog like a motherfucker
Every day of the is the first of the month
Audemars Piguet the diamonds in the face
Can't tell the time cause the in the face
We can get it popping like a automatic
And if you got beef I put the biscuit on a
Rockstar tatted, addict
Running shit, now I'm feeling athletic
I'm on a boat bitch, getting sea
Stop playing, I'm fresher then a degree
Street shit, well, of course I mad weed
I'm on my high-horse, please don't shoot me down, I land feet
Then walk a million miles New Orleans on my back
Ha, I a massage
And it comes to hoes, man, I got a collage
Finger on the button, nigga stuntin'
If you ain't the bank teller, tell me nothin'
Kush so strong you can me comin'
Bitch, I go hard like the boy "300"
You think you kick it, boy we puntin'
Young Money we the shit weak stomachs
No Ceilings