Luyện nghe bài hát Bop Your Head

[intro: killah
Yea, yea, yea, yea.
Yea, yea. that!
I'm set it off. yea, yea, ya shitted.
Ya in shit now, son.
It's on now, mothafuckas can my dick.
I'm back! fuck 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 bars to ya
React like a cat he arches back
Give a fake rapper a attack, once I start to rap
I'm a vocalist, nigga, to rip
Last told 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 ya just tired of me, beatin ya out
Ya trained all year, in a karate
It took one second, to put yo' ass in a bag
>from a blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties don't last
I like to pop shit, get me started
I slap y'all mothafuckas like y'all kids in kindegarten
yo' head till yo' kidneys harden
Now watch this, i'ma my whole mothafuckin squadron
And tell niggaz to just start
'cause y'all niggaz is up
And brooklyn niggaz is really to get ya
I know how to hit ya, and cut ya
But don't worry, 'cause i'ma stitch ya, with a rusty

[chorus: priest]
Niggaz bop yo' heads to this, real
Call up yo' to this, it's realness
You this in yo' streets and village
Spare new shit, priest killed it
Y! niggaz bop yo' heads to this, real
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 the ability
To run at top speed without my knees
I destory shit, pin-point asteroids in
Then, hurl thousands of miles an hour, towards it
Fuckin heathen, wrap my hands around ya neck
Then I squeezin 'til ya stop breathin
You weaklins is playin wit ya tongues
I knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the out ya lungs
Hit ya wit a blow your frame could never sustain
probably never walk ever again
Nigga, you think you rhyme I leave you lyin stiff
you behind my horse til I break ya spine, bitch
Stop cryin bitch, I hit ya wit the iron, bitch
You can't rhyme bitch, the one nine's mine bitch
The pain'll make ya voice octaves
low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostage
We judge mc's by they lyrical
And punish for puttin corny stickers on they mixes
Smack the stripper for askin for our autograph and pictures
You'll be scared to leave the wit us
You scratch my back, scratch your's bitch
I'll eat ya salt-fish, if ya my sausage
I got an atomic sub, armed wit a scud
Ready to spill ya crimson-colored
The four horsemen on the back of four
Puttin four hoof on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!
(there it is!) so bop ya to that, uh (there it is!)

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