Luyện nghe bài hát 54

Kill that cat, watch me kill cat
If your girl, I'm lookin' at
Then me kill that cat

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

In '92 I let the Cage outta
Through college radio demonstrate the fist, fuck the love
Summon demons in my ad libs, fun
Vomit good shit, go feed off Christians

Red light in the Lincoln, from Drencrom
The in my eye can explain the thinkin'
While I lay behind a of flesh, engulfed by the homeless
If I escape, I might evaporate my state

Plus when Cage ripped in half on the
Screamin', "That's my running down the street"
The undead, in gun lead
Liposuct' a fat out her box with one hypo' jab

Inject serum, I can't hear 'em, who?
Alex with the fuckin' thirty-oh-two, 'cause

This is for the whores, and the kicked over
And fifty-four dollars in my on tour
is for the kid that 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, down to fifty-four
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 green Jesus, get in drive you to seizures
Humanoid pause, before God, cyborg dogs after me
Killin' these rhymin' Freuds for the cause

Your whole life's a waitin' for worms
occurs, you see Venus in furs
With toast out Earth, avenge my sixteen
Your old shell to pistols like Starscream

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

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

You communism buyin' majors so dub
me put two rocks in Kurt Loder head, whassup

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

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

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