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 shit now, son.
on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.
I'm back! fuck shit!
Ready to eat niggaz up, they ass and e'rything, son.
I'ma this shit, right here.
Me and my nigga. what!?

[killah
The emperor, chief sinister, street
Guarenteed in two to finish ya
React like a cat he arches back
Give a fake a heart attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, to rip
Last poet's me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fist
Then I finish ya off with my tremendous
What now, nigga? look at ya, shit
do it, 'cause you ain't got no teeth in ya mouth
And I know ya tired of me, beatin 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 slap y'all mothafuckas like y'all little in kindegarten
Squeeze yo' head yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma call my whole squadron
And tell niggaz to just start
y'all niggaz is fucked up
And niggaz is really ready to get ya
I know how to hit ya, and cut ya
But don't worry, 'cause i'ma stitch ya, a rusty screwdriver

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

Yo, yo, yo
Yo I'm a macabeast mc and I possess the
To run at top speed bendin my knees
I destory shit, pin-point asteroids in
Then, hurl niggaz thousands of miles an hour, it
Fuckin heathen, wrap my hands ya neck region
Then I start 'til ya stop breathin
You is playin tug-of-war wit ya tongues
I knock the teeth out ya gums and the breeze out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a your physical frame could never sustain
You'll never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme sick? I you lyin stiff
Pull you behind my horse til I ya spine, bitch
Stop bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron, bitch
You can't rhyme bitch, the one nine's mine bitch
The pain'll make ya voice change
>from to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
We judge mc's by they fitness
And punish dj's for corny stickers on they mixes
Smack the bitches for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be to leave the club wit us
You scratch my back, I'll scratch your's
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my
I got an atomic sub, wit a sub-atomic scud
Ready to spill ya crimson-colored
The four horsemen on the back of quadropeds
four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
(there it is!) so bop ya to that, uh (there it is!)

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