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 with my son
I

I see you an old style
I wondered you'd learned it from
You very well, it's yours too
Heh, by the Gods, will you me?
And what do you 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, bloodbaths and elevator shafts
Like these rhymes tight from genuine craft
Check the print, it's where veterans the letterings
Slow MCs is waitin' for the editin'

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

Fuck the photo sessions
Facial expression impressions
Try to keep a shark nigga
Give crazy son here's the outcome

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Shit is outdated, just like of Sterlings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

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

They breathe, blood splash, rushin' fast like runnin' rivers
I be whiskey in your liver

Duel of the Mic
that fifty-two ready to strike

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

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

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

the retina
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 shook but still pose
We move like real pros the streets we stroll

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

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

Critical thoughts, minded
Blinded by illusion, it confusin'

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

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