Luyện nghe bài hát Bronx Tale

Music please, yes, to 'Jealous One's Envy'
We'd like to thank you in advance for this product
It is a 'Relativity Records' product, artist, Fat Joe, my 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 know who you fuckin' with
You see this with bifocals cause you're local
Can't 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 give a though
I'm rolling like God for the squad black
Packin' them bitch, where that money be at?

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

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

Fat Joe the true and will prevail
Kingpin Sonny up in Bronx Tale
Will I fail? I it
I'm the nigga catchin' bodies, while other niggaz fantasize it

True indeed, behind my back claim they can serve me
In my they screaming, "We're not worthy"
Youse a has been, actually you been
I be touring, while you be 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, press your luck
Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't play
If you're lucky duck, then press your luck
Buck, buck, buck take that on the way down

As we proceed to it down, don't get it fucked up
We be the kings of the Boogie
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 much love, I'm payin' sixteen on a
Sendin' niggaz outta town, got control of the Boogie Down
Now how the fuck you
(Yeah)

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

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

If you're lucky duck, then press your luck
Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't play
If you're feeling lucky duck, 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 after the battle and find I'm your
KRS-One up in your memory

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

The only reason you got, such an rap collection
'Cuz most of your rap mags are all stuck
what you sayin', watch what you say
When skull gets 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 don't let up, I be dead up in this piece
(Tell 'em)
Recognize it's BlastMaster
For ten years, Fat Joe, chillin' on the