Luyện nghe bài hát 54

Kill that cat, me kill that cat
If it's girl, I'm lookin' at
Then me kill that cat

I cunts like these, with underground disease
In they matin' spots, spawn a million MC's
They used to go to shows, dance get high
Then you click the mic the whole wanna rhyme

In '92 I let the outta Alex
Through college demonstrate the fist, fuck the love ballads
Summon in my ad libs, fun triplin'
Vomit good shit, go feed off dead

Red light in the Lincoln, from drinkin'
The corpse in my eye can explain the
While I lay a wall of flesh, engulfed by the homeless
If I escape, I might my whole state

Plus Cage ripped in half on the concrete
Screamin', "That's my spirit running the street"
The undead, writin' in gun
a fat bitch out her box with one hypo' jab

Inject tiger serum, I hear 'em, who?
Alex with the fuckin' loaded thirty-oh-two,

This is for the whores, and the kicked over
And fifty-four dollars in my pocket on
This is for the kid said, "Oh, you dead"
And the fifty-four stitches that he caught in his

This is for the clowns, I with no hands
And the two O-Z's, to fifty-four grams
two to the face, I'm a basket face
With seconds to outer space

I love a bull mastiff ground up, make a up
With Jesus, get in I'll drive you to seizures
Humanoid pause, before God, with cyborg after me
these rhymin' Sigmund Freuds for the cause

Your whole a waitin' room for worms
Strangest occurs, you see in furs
With toast out facin' Earth, avenge my
Your old talk to pistols like Starscream

My whole story lost on a in black marker
66 flicks for Clive Barker
With a little message, for real research
Can you guess who the DJ is?

My anti-commercial will curse you
Say so much, my airplay's like curfew
To third shift farm chemists, the senate
Start killin' all the livin' like the guards

You supportin' communism majors so dub
Watch me put two rocks in Kurt Loder head,

This is for the whores, and the kicked stores
And fifty-four dollars in my pocket on
is for the kid that said, "Oh, you dead"
And the fifty-four stitches he caught in his head

This is for the clowns, I beat no hands
And the two O-Z's, to fifty-four grams
two to the face, I'm a basket face
With fifty-four to outer space

The undead, red light in the
For Cage, ripped, in half on the
Screamin', "That's my spirit runnin' the street"
Runnin' down the street, runnin down, running the street