Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of The Iron Mic

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

I see you an old style
I wondered where learned it from
You know very well, it's too
Heh, by the Gods, will you 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, Bring it)

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

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

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

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Shit is outdated, just neckloads of Sterlings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

I ain't particular, I bang like vehicular
Until I fall from
Where money don't grown on trees and there's MCs
Who to rake leaves

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

of the Iron Mic
It's that ready to strike

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

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

Damagin' lyrical
Lunge at the youthful offender then injure any
Testin' the murderous Masta lead to disaster
thoughts explode through your barrier

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

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

Bullet holes lace the in 1-6-oh
So control the avenues that's the dream sold
Building lobbies are for small-timers
Bitches in airports, keys in they vaginas

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

Critical thoughts, 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 of their fame and glory
turned on one another
Each in vain for ultimate supremacy
In the passion and depth of struggle
The very art, that had them
Through such Olympian heights was
Their techniques,