Luyện nghe bài hát Bop Your Head

[intro: priest]
Yea, yea, yea, yea.
Yea, yea. that!
I'm set it off. yea, yea, ya shitted.
Ya in some now, son.
It's on now, mothafuckas can my dick.
I'm back! that shit!
Ready to eat niggaz up, beat ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma prove this shit, here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[killah
The emperor, sinister, street minister
Guarenteed in two to finish ya
React like a cat he arches back
a fake rapper a heart attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, to rip
Last poet's told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive
Then I ya off with my tremendous horse-kick
now, nigga? look at ya, talk shit
Can't do it, 'cause you got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya just tired of me, ya out
Ya trained all year, in a karate
It one second, to put yo' ass in a body bag
a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't last
I like to pop shit, don't get me
I y'all mothafuckas like y'all little kids in kindegarten
yo' head till yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my mothafuckin squadron
And tell niggaz to just robbin
'cause y'all niggaz is up
And brooklyn is really ready to get ya
I know how to hit ya, and cut ya
But don't worry, 'cause i'ma stitch ya, with a screwdriver

[chorus: killah
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, real
Call up yo' clicks to this, it's
You feel this in yo' and village
that new shit, priest killed it
Y! niggaz bop yo' heads to this, shit
Call up yo' clicks to this, it's
You feel in yo' streets and village
Spare that new shit, killed it

Yo, yo, yo
Yo I'm a macabeast mc and I the ability
To run at top speed without bendin my
I destory shit, pin-point asteroids in
Then, hurl niggaz thousands of an hour, towards it
Fuckin heathen, wrap my hands around ya region
Then I start squeezin ya stop breathin
You weaklins is tug-of-war wit ya tongues
I knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya
Hit ya wit a blow your physical could never sustain
probably never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I you lyin stiff
you behind my horse til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron,
You can't bitch, the one triple nine's mine bitch
The pain'll make ya change octaves
>from low-pitched to high-pitched, hour we kill a hostage
We judge mc's by lyrical fitness
And punish dj's for puttin stickers on they mixes
Smack the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and
be scared to leave the club wit us
You scratch my back, I'll scratch bitch
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya my sausage
I got an sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scud
Ready to spill ya blood
The horsemen on the back of four quadropeds
four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
(there it is!) so bop ya to that, uh (there it is!)

[outro: priest]
pussy emcee's, gon' get a shot in the eye
Y'all niggaz talk behind backs
Y'all better bop ya mothafuckin heads before we blow it off
Ya fuckin perfume idiots
Y'all niggaz always runnin, go run and that
Go on, runnin, run behind somebody's
Run and tell and take these fuckin slugs wit ya
We gon' get ya mothafuckin
Yea...