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 well, it's yours too
Heh, by the Gods, you show me?
And what do you come
(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 elevator
Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine
Check the print, it's where veterans the letterings
Slow MCs is waitin' for the editin'

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

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

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Shit is outdated, just like neckloads of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

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

They breathe, blood splash, rushin' fast like runnin' rivers
I be that in your liver

of the Iron Mic
It's that ready to strike

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

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

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

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

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

Bullet lace the windows in 1-6-oh
So control the avenues that's the dream that's
Building are graveyards for small-timers
caught in airports, keys in they vaginas

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

Critical thoughts, criminal
by illusion, findin' 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, had raised them
Through such Olympian heights was
Their techniques,