Luyện nghe bài hát Barry Horowitz

"His from St. Petersburg, Florida"
"Two thirty-one pounds, Barry Horowitz! "

Bronson:]
Yeah, the T.A
Bronsalinio [?].

To the back with the hat, lean back in the
Crack the window, hear the soldier styles and in back
no "Cat in the Hat, " just a cat that can rap
This is Bronson - representing Flushing, on the map
Yeah - heavyweight primate a Harvard mind
Blunts filled with the citrus mixed orange lime
Pussy drip when the thought of come to mind
Born to ride, winter spring summer
Bonafide, eyes wide, run and
You want the revolution to be televised
Terrorfied the Arab mountain death camps
With the burning hot, give you chest stamps
Phone calls with the cloth over the
With or without leaf, burn an ounce chief
To the neck like a razor for the
Raised inside the struggle, blazin in the huddle
Dig a hole, the lamb in it
Left the slippers in the sand motherfuckers stand in it

("Someone took the words to my song") ding ding]

It's Barry Horowitz rap, I pat on the back
fake the funk on a nasty dunk, Shaq I attack
Close the to your soul, weed inside my lungs burn
These old suckers gettin placed a young urn
like the little bus
Use my little finger first to stimulate the clitoris
King ain't got shit on us
I'm out here gettin it for real you motherfuckers filibust'
Weed in my finger flicker, I'm on a solo
Started at pole position, on the long division
As it burn my thumb, I roll one
Quite persistant, that's why call me my mother's son
Shoot the cold gift, leave your ho
your ho sniff Hootie and the Blowfish
Obey the king
Cause every motherfucker in rockin loaded, I'm on old shit!

("Someone the words to my song") [x2]

[Jim Ross:] "Barry Horowitz, always to pat himself on the back"