Luyện nghe bài hát Duel of the Iron Mic

{Oh, mad one, we see your
You can escape, your fate
Submit honor to a duel, with my son
I
I see you an old style
I wondered where you had it from
Even I too
You know very well, it's 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
of the Iron Mic
You come here, you're so interested
of the Iron Mic
me
In the moonlight niggaz I will
What, Bring it}

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

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

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

Shit is outdated, just like of Sterlings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

Where don't grown on trees and there's thievin' MC's
Who cut-throat to rake
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 fatal strikes!
(You tell him to take the same technique)

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

Science, heavily guarded by the culprit
Bombin' your barracks, aerodynamic
Swordplay, poison darts by the
Minds laced with explosive doses

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

Explode your barrier, rips the retina
Who can the astonishing, punishing
Stings to the sternum, in the hip-hop livestock
for a serum, to cure 'em

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

holes lace the windows in one-six-o
So the avenues that's 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 you're the cut
Plus Shorty's not a Shorty no more, he's heartless
of the charges
Claims to be the individual
Critical thoughts, criminal
Blinded by illusion, it confusin'

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

Duel of the iron
(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 fame and glory, they on one another
Each in vain for ultimate supremacy
In the passion and depth of their
They art, that had raised them
Through such rapiant heights was
techniques, vanished}