Luyện nghe bài hát Down for The Count

One, two, three,
Grimy stomp the bogey outside your front door (yeah)
Puffin on Goodie, eatin and rye
Blow the spot with old school shit from junior high
One, two, three,
finest in the house, punchlines and metaphors
Make your foul ice grill, grimy on the real
Puttin heads to bed Hennessey and NyQuil

Convertible style, had the heat knockin
shit from way back with my man beatboxin
Shootin the breeze - see I'm nice these
You'll be suckin it like fast food high-see's
Type of rap bitch that underground classics
Gettin more than that nigga St. Patrick
Makin wack go and merc the set {*dial-up sounds*}
Better off behind a tryin to surf the net
Cause I be adamant, kill 'em my joints get added in
Worse than boric acid in project cabinet
Dirty Harriet, the fanbases
Leavin cats stuck on the plantations
Mini-skirts with tights, eatin lunch whites
Leave the party here 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 Stone tour
Raw your wack set is faker than a bomb
By a nervous terrorist who's so scared his palms wet
One, two, three,
The stuff legends are made of, folklore
Jim Morrison we break on through
Before I care about your take on me, we on you

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

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

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

It's
One, two, three,