Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

Oh, mad one
We see trap
You can never your fate
Submit with honor to a duel my son
I

I see you an old style
I wondered where you'd learned it
You very well, it's yours too
Heh, by the Gods, you show me?
And do you come for?
(Duel of the Mic)

You come here, since so interested
(Duel of the Mic)
me
(In the the tiger strikes)
(What, what? it)

Yo, picture bloodbaths and shafts
Like these murderous rhymes tight genuine craft
Check the print, it's where veterans spark the
Slow MCs is waitin' for the editin'

The liquid soluble that made up the
A gaseous element, that burned down your
vapors and biblical papers
Smokin' exo-dust, square yard is plush

the screw-faced photo sessions
Facial leaves impressions
Try to keep a nigga guessin'
crazy shouts son here's the outcome

Cut across the semi gloss rhymes you
Shit is outdated, just neckloads of Sterlings
Suede fronts, bell bottoms and tri-colored

I ain't particular, I like vehicular homicides
I fall from Bed-Stuy
Where money don't grown on trees and there's MCs
Who to rake leaves

They can't breathe, blood splash, rushin' fast like rivers
I be that whiskey in liver

Duel of the Mic
It's that fifty-two to strike

This is not a 85 affair, made
When the Gods get on to perform blew up
Wu's up, the crowd to self-destruct
bees are stingin' somethin' while I reveal

Science, heavily guarded by the culprit
Bombin' your barracks, aerodynamic swordplay
Poison darts by the
Minds that's laced explosive doses

Damagin' launcher
Lunge at the youthful offender then any contender
Testin' the murderous could lead to disaster
Dynamite thoughts explode your barrier

Rips the
Who can the astonishin' punishin' stings to the sternum?
Shocked in the hip-hop
Seekin' for a serum to 'em

kill for drugs plus the young bucks bust
Duckin' handcuffs, throats get cut when rush
Out of town foes look shook but pose
We move like real through the streets we stroll

Bullet holes the windows in 1-6-oh
So control the avenues that's the that's sold
Building lobbies are for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, in they vaginas

No peace, yo the mad corrupt
You get up, dependin' if you're passin' the cut
Plus shorty's not a shorty no more, he's livin'
Regardless of the charges, claims to be the hardest

thoughts, criminal minded
Blinded by illusion, it confusin'

Duel of the Mic
It's fifty-two ready to strike
Duel of the Mic
It's that ready to strike

At the of their fame and glory
turned on one another
Each struggling in vain for ultimate
In the passion and depth of struggle
The very art, had raised them
Through such heights was lost
Their techniques,