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 using an old
I wondered you'd learned it from
You know well, it's yours too
Heh, by the Gods, will you me?
And do you come for?
(Duel of the Mic)

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

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

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

Fuck the screw-faced sessions
Facial leaves impressions
Try to keep a shark guessin'
Give crazy shouts son the outcome

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Shit is outdated, just like of Sterlings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

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

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

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

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

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

Damagin' launcher
Lunge at the youthful offender injure any contender
Testin' the murderous Masta could to disaster
Dynamite thoughts explode through barrier

Rips the
Who can withstand the astonishin' punishin' to the sternum?
Shocked in the livestock
for a serum to cure 'em

Adults kill for drugs the young bucks bust
handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush
Out of foes look shook but still pose
We move like pros through the streets we stroll

Bullet holes the windows in 1-6-oh
So control the that's the dream that's sold
Building lobbies are graveyards for
Bitches caught in airports, keys in vaginas

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

Critical thoughts, criminal
Blinded by illusion, it confusin'

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

At the height of their and glory
They on one another
Each struggling in vain for supremacy
In the passion and of their struggle
The very art, that had them
Through Olympian heights was lost
techniques, vanished