Luyện nghe bài hát 54

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

I hunt cunts these, with underground disease
In they yearly spots, spawn a million MC's
They used to go to shows, drink dance get
Then you click the mic the audience wanna rhyme

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

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

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

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

This is for the whores, and the kicked stores
And fifty-four dollars in my 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, to fifty-four grams
two to the face, I'm a basket face
With seconds to outer space

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

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

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

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

You supportin' communism buyin' so dub
Watch me put two rocks in Kurt head, whassup

This is for the whores, and the kicked over
And fifty-four dollars in my pocket on
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 beat no hands
And the two O-Z's, down to grams
two to the face, I'm a basket face
With fifty-four seconds to space

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