Luyện nghe bài hát Bronx Tale

Music please, yes, welcome to 'Jealous One's
We'd like to thank you in advance for this product
It is a 'Relativity Records' product, artist, Fat Joe, my name is
And of course we're gonna bring the noise, we can never be toys

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

Or Ono, but KRS, oh, no, no
You might you a ROTC, but I don't give a fuck though
I'm rolling hard like God for the squad
Packin' them poppers bitch, 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 I'm sayin' though

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

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

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

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

If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your
Up, up, up and away 'cuz I don't clown
If you're feeling lucky duck, then press your
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 Boogie
All we do is spark izm and get
Tortuing MC's like that up in Alcatraz
(Bo, bo, bo, bo)

Fat Joe, yo, you know 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 you sound?
(Yeah)

no army that could harm me or bomb me
C'mon G, you clowns got a fucking thing on me
I'm like white linen
(Tell 'em)
Your rap is under pressure like two outs tied in the ninth inning

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

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

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

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

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

Your file is dead, 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, on the East