Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

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

I see you using an old
I wondered where learned it from
You know very well, yours too
Heh, by the Gods, you show me?
And what do you for?
(Duel of the Mic)

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

Yo, picture bloodbaths and elevator
these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft
Check the print, it's where spark the letterings
Slow moving MCs is waitin' for the

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

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

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Shit is outdated, just neckloads of Sterlings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

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

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

Duel of the Mic
that fifty-two ready to strike

This is not a 85 affair, made
When the Gods get on to storms blew up
up, causin' the crowd to self-destruct
Killer are stingin' somethin' while I reveal

Science, that's heavily by the culprit
Bombin' your barracks, with aerodynamic
Poison by the doorway
Minds laced with explosive doses

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

Rips the
Who can withstand the astonishin' punishin' stings to the
in the hip-hop livestock
Seekin' for a to cure 'em

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

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

No peace, yo the police mad
You get bagged up, dependin' if passin' the cut
shorty's not a shorty no more, he's livin' heartless
Regardless of the charges, to be the hardest individual

Critical thoughts, minded
Blinded by illusion, findin' it

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

At the height of their fame and
They on one another
Each struggling in for ultimate supremacy
In the passion and depth of struggle
The very art, that had raised
Through Olympian heights was lost
Their techniques,