Luyện nghe bài hát Blaze'in Microphones

Im like cinnamon when Im spittin this lyrical venum,
giving rappers the blues denim,
when Im killin em, fillin em these syllable,
of adrenaline spillin off my spiritual tongue,
then numbing em penicillin,
Im trying to reach the lost like Gilligan,
God willin the healin, will stop the drug dealing,
and killing, because Im feeling like Im ready to my mind,
so many be flying, and rydas be dying,
gotta make a difference, for instance, the in prisons make bad decisions,
for of wisdom, so I cut them open, and make incisions,
fill em spiritualism, tell em about the one thats arisen,
how they can be free in they spirit, and they sins forgiven,
by the one who on the cross,
'cause even when they were into all drinking and smoking,
he loved even while they were lost,
so please listen to me, and stop a G,
I got they remedy on how yall can be free.

Blazing microphones, bringing but that heat from the west coast,
Chase beats, Bone lyrics like Corleone,
we be running so act like you all know,
Boneyard cant be now.

Im not a Jehovah witness, but I for Jehovah,
back in the day, the 1st to cane and the baking soda,
but nowadays, I like the word,
like a drug dealers, slangin; rock on the curb,
blurred off the holy ghost, contact smoke,
gotcha off my rims, crush eyes and my rope,
Im gifted with flows and wrist is frozen,
I thought you all dawg, what, Im Gods chosen,
highly favored, with the elite,
thats apart dawg, anointed, bring the word to the streets,
into entertainin the the fame or set you claimin,
tha game of namin, the name Im naming
is on the throne and reining, painting a picture for Gs bangin,
og how the Lord can em, train em like a Baltimore Raven, engraving,
the name of Jesus they heart, 'cause its breakin,
plus is waitin, anticipatin, and hatin,
but once they trapped no escapin'

I been doing for 12 years, it aint easy yall,
to make hit records that are off the yall,
especially when them sippin on that haterade,
talkin behind your and trying to stop you on a day to day,
I make music for em playa hatas anyway,
this is for killers and thugs, thats on the Alize,
run a and essays locked down in prison,
why them, the ones in need of a physician,
and I know the perfect yall
that can you when you answer to the alter call,
he can, fill all the emptiness and void in heart,
why I rhyme out of a need and not love of the art,
so listen, my only mission is fishing,
so when the happens, faces will be on the back of milk cartons missing.