Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of the Iron Mic

{Oh, mad one, we see your
You can never escape, fate
Submit with to a duel, with my son
I
I see you an old style
I wondered where you had learned it
I wondered too
You know very well, yours too
Yo God, it's a duel, a duel
Heh, by the Gods, you show me?
Buck buck buck buck buck
And do you come for?
of the Iron Mic
You here, since you're so interested
of the Iron Mic
me
In the moonlight niggaz I strike
What, what? it}

Yo
Picture bloodbaths and shafts
Like murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft
Check the print, it's veterans spark the letterings
Slow MC's is waitin' for the editin'

The soluble that made up the chemistry
A gaseous element, that burned down ministry
vapors, and Biblical papers
Smokin' Exodus, every yard is plush

Fuck the photo sessions facial expression
Leaves impressions, try to keep a sharp nigga
Give shouts, "Son, here's the outcome"
Cut across the semi-gloss you floss

Shit is outdated, just neckloads of Sterlings
Suede-fronts, bell-bottoms, and Shearlings
I ain't particular, I bang like homicides
On July 4th in

Where don't grown on trees and there's thievin' MC's
Who cut-throat to rake
They breathe, blood splash, rushin' fast
Like rivers, I be that whiskey in your liver

Duel of the Mic
(You're good)
It's the fifty-two strikes!
(You should tell him to the same technique)

is not a eighty-five affair, made clear
When the Gods get on to storms blew up
Wu's up, causin' the to self-destruct
Killer bees are somethin' while I reveal

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

Damagin' launcher
at the youthful offender then injure
Any contender, the murderous Master
Could lead to disaster, dynamite

Explode through your barrier, rips the
Who can withstand the astonishing,
Stings to the sternum, shocked in the livestock
Seekin' for a serum, to 'em

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

Bullet lace the windows in one-six-o
So control the avenues that's the dream sold
Building lobbies are for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, 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
of the charges
Claims to be the individual
thoughts, criminal minded
Blinded by illusion, findin' it

Duel of the mic's
(The master, he be dreaming, heh)
It's fifty-two fatal strikes
(Well, if he is dreaming)

Duel of the mic's
(Then he be asleep)
that fifty-two fatal strikes, nuh
(And if he is asleep)
(Then I will him up)

{At the height of fame and glory, they turned on one another
Each struggling in vain for supremacy
In the passion and depth of their
very art, that had raised them
Through such rapiant heights was
Their techniques,