Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of the Iron Mic

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

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

The liquid that made up the chemistry
A element, that burned down your ministry
Herbal vapors, and Biblical
Smokin' Exodus, every square yard is

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

Shit is outdated, just like neckloads of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

Where money don't on trees and there's thievin' MC's
Who cut-throat to leaves
They can't breathe, blood splash, rushin'
runnin' 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 take the technique)

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

Science, that's heavily by the culprit
Bombin' your barracks, aerodynamic
Swordplay, poison by the doorway
Minds that's laced with doses

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

Explode through your barrier, rips the
Who can the astonishing, punishing
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, throats get cut when rush
Out of town foes look but still pose
We like real pros through the streets we stroll

Bullet holes the windows in one-six-o
So control the avenues that's the dream sold
lobbies are graveyards for small-timers
Bitches caught in airports, keys in they

No peace, yo the mad corrupt
You get bagged up, dependin' if you're the cut
Shorty's not a Shorty no more, he's livin' heartless
Regardless of the
to be the hardest individual
Critical thoughts, minded
by illusion, findin' it confusin'

Duel of the iron
(The master, he be dreaming, heh)
that 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 wake him up)

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