Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

Oh, mad one
We see your
You can escape your fate
with honor to a duel 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, will you me?
And do you come for?
(Duel of the Mic)

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

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

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

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

Cut the semi gloss rhymes you floss
Shit is outdated, just like neckloads of
Suede fronts, bell bottoms and Shearlings

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

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

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

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

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

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

the retina
Who can withstand the astonishin' punishin' stings to the
Shocked in the hip-hop
Seekin' for a serum to 'em

Adults kill for drugs the young bucks bust
Duckin' handcuffs, throats get cut when dough
Out of town foes shook but still pose
We move 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 for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, in they vaginas

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

Critical thoughts, minded
Blinded by illusion, findin' it

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

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