Luyện nghe bài hát Can This Be Real

Yo, up?
King Tee's in the house
Got my homeboy Young in the house
J-Ro's in the
But yo

Now somethin' everybody can relate to
I you hate to, but I feel great to
Be the man to you, awake you and make you
Stop and I do what it takes to

Bring a screechin' to the snoozin'
listen to the jam before you start choosin'
And refusin', sayin' you hack it
You never even bothered to take it out the

Put it on the turntable, have a
Then if wack, start dissin'
Now I why you're dissin' my cut
So I spit in my foot and stick my up your butt

you have no business, really in this
And I no time for that diss-diss
I shoot a rhyme at you like I'm to kill
And you can do is ask
(Can be real?)

Now song, I dedicate it to the sleepers
Nothing real hard, a little teaser
For those, who told those, that the King Tee was with
No, not quite, yo, pump it

Suckers don't front, I it's me you admire
I take your girl, set her on fire
I use the mic a gun and my rhymes like ammo
I go Tyson while others go

Pooh puts are warned, north while you can, bub
Give up rappin', join my
I'm the rap reverend, evangelist
Yo, I can handle this, pass me the

Pro rap and my rhymes are kinda raunchy
Start with smooth, end with somethin' punchy
See, I can rock, funk, rock, reggae or
Heavy or some soul, disco at the casa

to the point of a vinyl convention
Tee the rappin', E does the mixin'
So if still sleepin', yo, that's ill
But when awake, what's your question?
(Tell me, can be real)

Let me see if I can this one off
Right here, one

As I resume with my rhymes, or I say continue
You got the to try to pretend you
Don't like what I'm or sayin' so far
But when I'm done you're satisfied, of course

I don't or fake, don't base or sniff
Don't rob or or shoot dice and pimp
I love to hang out with my posse and chill
You might think I'm a thug, so think what you

I got a with a curl and a hommie named Sonny
Never smoked crack 'cause the smelled funny
King Tee, my alter ego, there's not to be a
Suckers try to me when I entertain the people

Hey, I'm a murderer, your girl, I'm her
You feel beefin', hah, the nerve of ya
I hit you so hard, it make your mother feel
Back up, punk, the came to get busy
(Tell me, can be real)