Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

Oh, mad one
We see your
You can escape your fate
Submit with honor to a duel my son
I

I see you an old style
I wondered where learned it from
You know very well, it's too
Heh, by the Gods, will you me?
And what do you come
(Duel of the Mic)

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

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

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

Fuck the screw-faced photo
Facial expression impressions
Try to keep a nigga guessin'
Give crazy shouts son here's the

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Shit is outdated, like neckloads of Sterlings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

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

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

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

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

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

Damagin' lyrical
at the youthful offender then injure any contender
Testin' the murderous Masta lead to disaster
thoughts explode through your barrier

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

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

Bullet lace the windows in 1-6-oh
So control the that's the dream that's sold
Building lobbies are for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, in they 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, findin' it

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

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