Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck the screw-faced sessions
Facial expression leaves
Try to a shark nigga guessin'
Give crazy son here's the outcome

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Shit is outdated, just like of Sterlings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

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

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

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 crowd to
Killer are stingin' somethin' while I reveal

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

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

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

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

Bullet holes lace the windows in
So control the avenues the dream that's sold
Building lobbies are for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, keys in 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
of the charges, claims to be the hardest individual

Critical thoughts, minded
Blinded by illusion, it confusin'

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

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