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 well, it's 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 moonlight the strikes)
(What, what? it)

Yo, picture and elevator shafts
Like murderous rhymes tight from genuine 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 element, that burned down your ministry
vapors and biblical papers
Smokin' exo-dust, every yard is plush

Fuck the photo sessions
Facial leaves 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Shit is outdated, like neckloads of Sterlings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, bell bottoms and tri-colored

I ain't particular, I bang like homicides
Until I fall from
Where money 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 your

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

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

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

Damagin' launcher
at the youthful offender then injure any contender
Testin' the Masta 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
for a serum to cure 'em

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

Bullet holes lace the windows in
So control the avenues that's the dream that's
Building lobbies are graveyards for
Bitches in airports, keys in they vaginas

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

Critical thoughts, minded
by illusion, findin' it confusin'

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

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