Luyện nghe bài hát Guillotinz (Swordz)

Intro: Deck

Allow me to demonstrate the skill of
The special technique of

Poisonous, poisonous (word word)
I slap all y'all niggaz for coming in my fuckin face with that shit
Alright yeah, go ahead man...

Verse One: Deck a.k.a. Rebel INS

paragraphs, smash ya phonograph
in half, it be the Deck on the warpath
First class leavin with a cast
Causin ruckus like the when guns blast
Run fast, here comes the verbal
Rhymes runnin like a child in a walker
I scored from the slums abroad
And my thoughts are sharp I sliced the mic from the cord
First they criticize, but now have become
mentally paralyzed with hits I devise
Now I testify, the rest is I, INS
Ya highness, blessed to
with voltage of an eel, truth that I
the amateurs who screamed to keep it real
Caesar black down hoodied up and
Part time minor receive third degrees
Attack like a wolf pack, once I pull
then guard you, and through like a fullback

Verse Two: Ghostface Killer a.k.a. Starks

Yo, you fourteen carat gold slum wizard
Tappin inside my rap vein blizzards
Do I like the kills for ice trife like botta
injected with strength of eighty midgets
The Earth spins ruins, rap blends
Let my peeps in, niggaz gaspin aspirins
a dosage, you overdosed in rap
High explosives my post-its with hypnosis
I sell goods, my whole Clan is on the run like Natural Born
the album Thriller
Now access the jig who has and rocket launchers
Float like dope killer bees is I sponsor
Ya entrepeneur, pens and gear like
When I fuck I grab hair, collect drawers as
Fuck yeah, my crew German beers
My career is based on guns, throwin cats in
Etcetera, any lame ass competitor
Who try to front, get broken and passed like
Whatever hot hardheads get shattered like
shots splatter your goose, scatter ya feathers
Say never poetry chumps crumbs deal graphic
Blew my overseas in mansions
If rap was crack, fully packed I be cats
Tax the kingpin of the rap traffickin
niggaz get slapped in Manhattan
for rappin, big Ghost off laffin

(Were you just using the Wu-Tang method against me?
I've learned so many styles, me)

Three: Raekwon the Chef a.k.a. Lou Diamonds

Sit back relax, fake niggaz don't get
Watch me massage ya with slang that's king
Projects filled with young men cause
Who is that? Thousand chains and techs
Focus, the niggaz of life shit
These mics is like cocaine Sun, the suicidal hype shit
Exchange mad taste the sweepstakes
Keepin up on fakes state for cakes
No doubt, plus amount, we making dough off of
Puttin fifty on the Land and Allah, it's like
ya shoes up black, matta of fact just adapt
Tie up, ya black and tight hats
Corners, surrounded with foreigners
Whattup dread? Feds you grudgin for his bread
But regardless, to jail niggaz with charges
Unify in the guard with La
My Clan done ran from Japan to Atlanta, with
Clingers and gamblers, and handlers
Tical like the Isle, so God, get steamed
guard yo' Beem, so seek nuff respect
Rude bwoy you bet, keep it par shallah
Pro black tar
the fly shit and stay shinin and
the RZA pours more beats than Cristal's wine
Concrete raps go to
with 50 other niggaz on the other of the map
Knew it's all good and all done what, we want
Mike of this rap shit, pullin out Macs for fun

Verse The Genius/GZA a.k.a. Maximillion

The don't get mad, I got mad styles of my own
And it's shown when my hands grip the chrome
Verbally I catch bodies with cordless
Intriguin emcees, I keep em trained like
I facts, my sword is an axe
to split backs invisible, like dope tracks
Sky's the limit, are timid, and nobody knows
How we move like in sheep clothes
Producin data, or software
Undaground and off air, the of the Lost
henchman from the North
Strikin where the Mason-Dixon line crossed