Luyện nghe bài hát Down for The Count

One, two, three,
Grimy bitch stomp the bogey outside front door (yeah)
Puffin on Goodie, eatin and rye
Blow the with some old school shit from junior high
One, two, three,
Jersey's in the house, punchlines and metaphors
Make your foul ice grill, thug on the real
Puttin to bed like Hennessey and NyQuil

Convertible style, still had the heat
Bumpin shit from way back my man beatboxin
Shootin the breeze - see I'm nice with
You'll be suckin it down fast food high-see's
of rap bitch that love underground classics
Gettin green than that nigga St. Patrick
Makin wack rappers go and merc the set {*dial-up
Better off a desk tryin to surf the net
Cause I be adamant, kill 'em my joints get added in
Worse than boric in your project cabinet
Dirty Harriet, the fanbases
Leavin non-writin cats stuck on the
with tights, eatin lunch with whites
Leave the party over like they Israelites
Got Cali Brooks critics, Ta' Kwe'(??)
Gonna rock shit like he can't get no visits

One, two, three,
Rock the whole world like the Rolling Stone
Raw your wack set is faker than a bomb
By a terrorist who's so scared that his palms wet
One, two, three,
The stuff are made of, urban folklore
Like Jim Morrison we break on
Before I care about your take on me, we on you

Yo, yo, yo
We it straight to your face from the start, yo
Rage Against the Machine, it apart
Might be over your head, but it's straight the heart
I my love in the light while why'all hate in the dark
to apocalypse is where I'm takin the art
Givin niggaz scars, ALWAYS makin my mark
You fakin the part of gangster, til niggaz break in spot
You straight bitch I say it or not
Shit is hot, spittin on the track
Put our names on the map
From now until we fadin to
Where we at? Thug rebels love metal ghetto
When the slugs let go like Frankie
Forever we stack notes like the treasury, heavenly
Get you high on speech laced with
Niggaz be gassed like Cipher Sounds, and rescue remedy
fall the fuck off like limbs affected with leprosy

One, two, three,
Why the can't MC's MC no more?
Hardcore til somebody put me the ground
With a dick in your ear, still couldn't fuck my sound
One, two, three,
Takin me straight to the weed spot, then to the sto'
"Gimme Some Mo'" like Bus', who do you trust?
Swingin through, your neighborhood lush

I'm I-rate, usin body for live bait
Xzibit rockin them heavy gems you can't
Dilate, cock back the weight, hate
Heavy metal we settle and set shit
Hit gates in my younger days, the policeman
Me and my clan to dance thicker than quicksand
Supply and demand the hand is quicker the eye
Find some chickens to fry, while you find it to stick to your lie
I see the tricks, destroy the facade
Your little lungs is too to hotbox with God
Rah Digga, Lady of the Flipmode Squad
Gotta be hard like a young walkin the yard
For the time, we ain't the niggaz you let shine
Expect mines to blow lines coke everytime
I'm an Alkaholik nigga so I finish the
You at the front door bitchin you ain't on the list

It's
One, two, three,