Luyện nghe bài hát Down for The Count

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

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

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

Yo, yo, yo
We bring it straight to your from the start, yo
Rage Against the Machine, it apart
be over your head, but it's straight from the heart
I show my love in the light why'all hate in the dark
to apocalypse is where I'm takin the art
Givin niggaz battle scars, ALWAYS makin my
You fakin the part of gangster, til niggaz in your spot
You straight bitch I say it or not
Shit is hot, spittin on the track
Put our town's on the map
From now until we fadin to
Where we at? Thug rebels metal clubs ghetto
the slugs let go like Frankie Beverly
Forever we stack notes like the treasury, heavenly
Get you high on speech laced with
Niggaz be gassed like Cipher Sounds, and need rescue
Then fall the fuck off like limbs 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 fuck with my sound
One, two, three,
Takin me straight to the weed spot, then to the sto'
"Gimme Some Mo'" like Busta Bus', who do you
Swingin through, your favorite lush

I'm I-rate, usin body for live bait
Xzibit rockin them heavy gems you can't
Dilate, cock the weight, spread hate
metal we settle and set shit straight
Hit gates in my younger days, from the
Me and my clan to dance thicker than quicksand
Supply and the hand is quicker than the eye
Find chickens to fry, while you find it hard to stick to your lie
I see the tricks, destroy the facade
Your little is too weak to hotbox with God
Rah Digga, First Lady of the Squad
Gotta be hard like a young nigga 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 the fifth
You at the front door because you ain't on the list

It's
One, two, three,