Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

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

I see you an old style
I wondered you'd 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 moonlight the strikes)
(What, what? it)

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

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

Fuck the photo sessions
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Shit is outdated, just like of Sterlings
fronts, bell bottoms and tri-colored Shearlings

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

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

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

This is not a 85 affair, made
When the Gods get on to storms blew up
Wu's up, causin' the crowd to
Killer bees are stingin' while I reveal

Science, that's guarded by the culprit
Bombin' barracks, with aerodynamic swordplay
Poison by the doorway
Minds that's laced with explosive

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

the retina
Who can withstand the astonishin' punishin' to the sternum?
Shocked in the hip-hop
for a serum to cure 'em

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

Bullet holes lace the windows in
So the avenues that's the dream that's sold
lobbies are graveyards for small-timers
Bitches in airports, keys in they vaginas

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

thoughts, criminal minded
Blinded by illusion, findin' it

Duel of the Mic
that fifty-two ready to strike
Duel of the Mic
that fifty-two ready to strike

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