Luyện nghe bài hát Bronx Tale

Music please, yes, to 'Jealous One's Envy'
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It is a 'Relativity product, artist, Fat Joe, my name is KRS-One
And of course we're bring the noise, 'cause we can never be toys

Yes, I am the ultimate, ultimatum's for the fun of it
It appears to me you don't who you fuckin' with
You see this with bifocals cause you're local
hang with my vocals, better you fuck with Sonny Bono

Or Ono, but KRS, oh, no, no
You might think you a ROTC, but I don't a fuck though
I'm rolling hard God for the squad black
them poppers bitch, where that money be at?

Aiyyo I be the show stopper, as I like gold
rappers dull like copper, the certified fake nigga dropper
Which borough, is the
I know, do you know, let me know I'm sayin'

The coke connector, sweating leather with
Don't get up in my sector, or I'ma haveta inject ya
With a of this lyrical dope shit
Fake MC's and wannabe's best to this

Fat Joe the true and living will
Kingpin like Sonny up in Tale
I fail? I doubt it
I'm the nigga bodies, while other niggaz fantasize about it

True indeed, behind my back MC's claim they can me
In my face screaming, "We're not worthy"
Youse a has been, actually you been
I be touring, you be home taping

So punk, you could battle in a second
Frankly the bottom line, is where's hit record
You claim I'm jocking, claim I'm on your dick, where's witnesses?
If I'm on your dick my has got to be syphillis

If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your
Up, up, up and away I don't play clown
If you're feeling lucky duck, then your luck
Buck, buck, buck that witcha on the way down

As we to lock it down, don't get it fucked up
We be the kings of the Down
All we do is spark izm and get
Tortuing MC's like that up in Alcatraz
(Bo, bo, bo, bo)

It's Fat Joe, yo, you my steelo
Get so love, I'm payin' sixteen on a kilo
Sendin' outta town, still got control of the Boogie Down
Now how the you sound?
(Yeah)

Ain't no army that could me or bomb me
C'mon G, you clowns ain't got a thing on me
I'm flashy white linen
(Tell 'em)
Your rap is under pressure like two outs tied score in the inning

I'm down Kris and ain't no stopping me
I'm out for Bronx and with chicks on top of me
my philosophy, but for now it's in the corridor
Slappin' caps like a ball, hard to my labrador
motherfuckers don't want it
(Word to mother Joe, these niggaz want it)

If you're feeling lucky duck, then your luck
Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't clown
If you're lucky duck, then press your luck
Buck, buck, buck, that witcha on the way down

Merrrcy, you wanna serve me but you ain't
My style is too curvy, you tellin' me
But your flimsy ass will go home the battle and find I'm your boss
With up in your memory

I know your kind, you rap
You're Mr. John Gotti, the Don, but you're another bwotty mon
Telecro mon, how you collect
Rap dating back to, Tougher than Leather

The only reason you got, an extensive rap collection
'Cuz most of your rap are all stuck together
what you sayin', watch what you say
When your skull cracked, whatcha gonna say crackhead?

Your is dead, kneel to the rap God in bed
'Fore I slap you way back in the like Ahmad
Don't get me fed up or vexed up 'cuz get set up
My crew don't let up, I be dead up in piece
(Tell 'em)
Recognize BlastMaster KRS-One
For ten years, Fat Joe, on the East