Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of the Iron Mic

{Oh, mad one, we see your
You can escape, your fate
with 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 well, it's yours too
Yo God, it's a duel, a duel
Heh, by the Gods, will you me?
buck buck buck buck buck
And where do you come
Duel of the Mic
You here, since you're so interested
Duel of the Mic
me
In the moonlight I will strike
What, what? it}

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

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

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

Shit is outdated, like neckloads of Sterlings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

money don't grown on trees and there's thievin' MC's
Who cut-throat to leaves
They can't breathe, blood splash, rushin'
Like runnin' rivers, I be that whiskey in liver

of the Iron Mic
(You're good)
the fifty-two fatal strikes!
(You should tell him to take the technique)

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

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

lyrical launcher
Lunge at the youthful offender injure
Any contender, testin' the murderous
lead to disaster, dynamite thoughts

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

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

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

No peace, yo the police mad
You get bagged up, dependin' if passin' the cut
Plus Shorty's not a Shorty no more, livin' heartless
Regardless of the
Claims to be the hardest
thoughts, criminal minded
Blinded by illusion, findin' it

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

of the iron mic's
(Then he be asleep)
It's fifty-two fatal strikes, nuh
(And if he is asleep)
(Then I wake 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 struggle
very art, that had raised them
Through such rapiant was lost
techniques, vanished}