Luyện nghe bài hát Let Me Out

i dont wanna yay
get my kicked in by the kkk
said the police
lookin for the quarter piece my caprice

the tracks of the ghetto
i try to
ya my music
on a CD or rap
i make it then it
to the mom and store
for a proper cash
from the mom and papa

dont want no rappers on consignment
find alignment
back another climate
people even know who you is
you a name in the music biz

album, for one, has no promotion
your elbows and kneecaps no lotion
ashy, your music is trashy
outkast, they class me
out the door is they catch me
(WHERE?)
Straight the street
(WHERE YOU GOIN?)
now im on my way to swap
(SAY WHAT?)
to make a mil without a record deal
selling tapes off the back of my de ville (Bucka!)

on the street is hard
in a fight with the white guard
bout 'no solicitin, no publicitin'
I try to talk to him but he not listenin
Punk ass, flunk ass, cant slam ass
skunk ass, monk ass, suckatash!
Now i'm seein a black guard workin for a
tellin me i cant be in the that i be in
you can spend your here
you cant no money here
you better get outta here ya here
did i make clear?
i go and drink a
til im in my belly
big as elliot (EEEEEE!)

I'm so plus overstressed
wanna rap so hard im
i wanna cock my heat
make them punks my song on the beat (BUCKA!!!!)

let me out, let me out
let me show the whole world what im all
let me out, let me out
let me rap til the party scream n shout
let me out, let me out
let me show the world the best of me
let me out, let me out
let me take of my destiny

depressed,
smokin,
black,
monster,
sellin,
money,
down for a murder,
like roberta
get dressed up, get my pressed up
'cause the music industry is up, baby!
i throw a pity as i sip bacardi
sell on! rap tapes, i dont need
ima beethoven givin, 45 sippin
its the year 2000 and my curl still drippin
it sound strange in my rhyme
but im the west coast
i cant change the hands of time
what i am is i am
if you dont like what i am i give a damn
black pecker's my title, john is my idol
im havin thoughts suicidal, young rival
i dont care about fashion, cadillac mashin
bags to put my grass in, to put my cash in
i dont wear FUBU like you do 'cause FUBU is
i my gat and make you shit boo boo sit
you talk too shit, thats why you got hit
walkin home with gums split
while i sit, sell yay, (BUCKA!)
N.W.A. (BUCK-BUCKA-BUCKA!)
cruisin down the street in my 6
punk niggas get GA-FFO,
I wanna every cop I meet
I wanna burn down this house that me
Im talkin smack but you aint
get your gat, i start racketeerin, plus clearin
all the and all the europeans
the ones makin money off of black human
OH! it up, give it up
its for the black folks to live it up
a-ya-hey! burn it down, it down
run the white cops town, motherfucker
so tell griffith that his punk ass b
from the black vigilante
it be,
a dictatorship, ran by the klu klan
the wrath of the afroman

let me out, let me out
let me show these motherfuckers im all about
let me out, let me out
fuck the in the ass til he scream and shout
let me out, let me out
let me show the whole the best of me
let me out, let me out
let me take control of my

I CAN DO IT, I CAN IT
if you dont it to me baby, ima take it
fuck the music industry, fuck the biz
i my own rap tape and tell it like it is
revolution,
revolution - the solution
i the rap tape, i made the CD
fuck the corporate world, THE MONEY TO ME!
BITCH!

Nobody understand the

fuck the police and the ku klan

ima hungry hustla, side young busta