Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

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

I see you using an old
I wondered you'd learned it from
You very 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 you're so
(Duel of the Mic)
me
(In the moonlight the strikes)
(What, Bring it)

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

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

the screw-faced photo sessions
Facial leaves impressions
Try to keep a shark guessin'
crazy shouts son here's the outcome

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Shit is outdated, just like of Sterlings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

I ain't particular, I bang like homicides
Until I fall from
Where money don't grown on 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 storms blew up
Wu's up, the crowd to self-destruct
Killer bees are stingin' somethin' while I

Science, heavily guarded by the culprit
Bombin' your barracks, with swordplay
Poison by the doorway
Minds laced with explosive doses

lyrical launcher
Lunge at the offender then injure any contender
Testin' the Masta could lead to disaster
Dynamite thoughts explode through your

Rips the
Who can withstand the astonishin' punishin' to the sternum?
in the hip-hop livestock
Seekin' for a to cure 'em

Adults for drugs plus the young bucks bust
handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush
Out of town look shook but still pose
We move like real through the streets we stroll

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

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

thoughts, criminal minded
Blinded by illusion, it confusin'

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

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