Luyện nghe bài hát Crosshairs

The fat is in the fire, a fryer made of wire
Gettin' sick and of a friggin' liar
Pelican with some very mangoes
A closet full of skeletons and terry cloth

Flew the before you hit it let me warn you
She did a cool but don't get any on you
It's all a big to make y'all eat pig ham
When he's on the mic he's the trigger man, fig jam

Doom, not to be confused nobody
Especially, the flows he used was so nutty
too woozy to go study, crews got no clues
Like old cruddy Officer

your six, he got a lot of more tricks
Lyrics, bricks, on sticks got raw-nytics
It's a gift, don't get for kicks
With the same used to plot sick vicks with

Spotted at a chick flick, holdin'
The other one on his swollen glands, a chance
That's why he them holes in his pants
Rollin' in a old van is he told his stolen fans

Is that you Matched from hat to shoe
Snafu, any brew, LaBatt's Blue
Black Jew like that's new, me through
No attached, skat shoo, catch twenty-two

Super, he's dice nice
And overpriced, a arm and a leg, homey or your ice
Villain, nag a old hag
Snag a bragger by his mic cord and leave him the bag

Come clean, a of dumb mean cream puffs
A keen drum machine buff, who fiends for more green
Instead of starvin' be problems by the goo gobs
Aight, somebody's Lou Dobbs and them tonight

And he's on the flight, moon bound
And it a point to stay away from the goon pound
Got peers, that's gone in the lost years
Tears and cheers, in the crosshairs

Hey Mr.
What's you were singing?
(It is the Hymn of Doom)

Well, I say
Nuttin' livens up a Robotic Hymn of
than an amazing pair of jugs