Luyện nghe bài hát Blaze'in Microphones

Im sweet like cinnamon when Im spittin lyrical venum,
giving rappers the like denim,
when Im em, fillin em with these syllable,
synonyms of adrenaline off my spiritual tongue,
numbing em like penicillin,
plus Im trying to reach the lost Gilligan,
God willin the spiritual healin, will the drug dealing,
and killing, Im feeling like Im ready to loose my mind,
so bullets be flying, and rydas be dying,
gotta make a difference, for instance, the in prisons make bad decisions,
for lack of wisdom, so I cut open, and make incisions,
em with 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,
even when they were into all their drinking and smoking,
he loved even while they were lost,
so please to me, and stop dissin a G,
I got they remedy on how yall can be free.

Blazing microphones, bringing nothing but that from the west coast,
Chase beats, Bone like Vito Corleone,
we be things so act like you all know,
cant be stopped now.

Im not a witness, but I witness for Jehovah,
in the day, the 1st to slang cane and the baking soda,
but nowadays, I like the word,
like a drug dealers, slangin; holy on the curb,
eyes blurred off the holy ghost, smoke,
tripppin off my rims, crush eyes and my rope,
plus Im 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, unless the name Im
is Jesus on the and reining, painting a picture for Gs bangin,
og how the Lord can save em, train em a Baltimore Raven, engraving,
the name of Jesus across heart, 'cause its breakin,
plus is waitin, anticipatin, and hatin,
but once they trapped no escapin'

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