Luyện nghe bài hát Stack It to the Ceiling

Ever since I woke up morning, I've been on
the cap up off my weed jar, and smoked a cone
Took a and got gone in the wind, like Steve Wynn
I'm from the streets of where we be hustlin and grittin'
Gettin' women, mobbin' and mackin', droppin' and stackin'
Wheelin' and and makin' a killin' trying to hit a million
Perkin' and illin' and drinkin' and chillin' in front of the building
Packin' and totin' and toast the lean oh a feelin'
He's a fraudulent, I'm
He a simp, he a sap, he
I'm a boss, I'm a factor, I'm a hundred
I'm a hustler like Flynt
Getting money's my habit, I in the traffic
Papered up a tablet, my bankroll is massive
If I in a loser, mayne I'm gonna walk out a winner
I ball like a hooper man, up like a printer
I ain't wrapped too tight, I'm touched, I'm
Mental health, argue with my conscience cursin' out
My psychologist got a psychologist, too
I'm one of one, I'm not you

Act you know
Dippin' and and weavin'
In and out of traffic, the morning to the evening
Trying to get my paper right, my
Stack it to the

Act like you
Dippin' and bobbin' and
In and out of traffic, the morning to the evening
to get my paper right, my nigga
Stack it to the

Drinking and on some good bud
on a strain you never heard of
Exclusive shit, I got it my plugs
You my weed on my rug
That's twenty pushups, that's a party
You can do 'em or do 'em now
I allow (who?)
around me, that's a no-no
They'll try to sneak me and my brains into adobo
see me solo, if you do I'm not
Best E-40 with his .45 Glock
I'm ADHD, need something to calm my
You libel to find me at my kid's teacher's meeting smellin' herb
I stay plastered, but I'm all my paper
Liquor aroma, that's me in the
More whips than Auto Trader, that's I got
Driveway, looks a car lot
My bite is stronger than my
you thought, heart
Bitch you full of shit like a dog
ass poodle, square as a cubicle
Weirdo,
Why do suckas, be all in a real one's
While these sideline niggas be always trying to count a hustler's
Flappin' their lizznips like some bitches, man they
Dudes be running their mouth that, we call 'em quack-quacks
That's how a gets smack-smacked
in the naps, clapped
Head put on flap, can't even bring 'em back (bitch)

Act like you
Dippin' and and weavin'
In and out of traffic, from the to the evening
to get my paper right, my nigga
Stack it to the

Act like you
and bobbin and weavin'
In and out of traffic, from the to the evening
to get my paper right, my nigga
Stack it to the

...to the