Luyện nghe bài hát Guillotinz (Swordz)

Intro: Deck

me to demonstrate the skill of Shaolin
The special of shadowboxing

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

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

paragraphs, smash ya phonograph
in half, it be the Deck on the warpath
class leavin mics with a cast
Causin ruckus like the aftermath when blast
Run fast, comes the verbal assaulta
runnin wild like a child in a walker
I from the inner slums abroad
And my thoughts are sharp I sliced the mic from the cord
First they criticize, but now they have
mentally paralyzed with that I devise
Now I testify, the is I, Rebel INS
Ya highness, to electrify
voltage of an eel, truth that I reveal'll
crush the who screamed to keep it real
Caesar black down hoodied up and
Part time minor leagues receive degrees
Attack a wolf pack, once I pull back
then guard you, and through like a fullback

Verse Ghostface Killer a.k.a. Tony Starks

Yo, you fourteen carat slum computer wizard
Tappin inside my rap vein causes
Do I like the for ice trife like botta digits
Gorillas injected with of eighty midgets
The Earth spins ruins, rap exotic
Let my in, niggaz gaspin swallowin aspirins
a dosage, you overdosed in rap
High explosives my post-its hypnotize with
I sell goods, my whole Clan is on the run like Natural Born
the album Thriller
Now access the jig who has bombs and rocket
Float like dope bees is what I sponsor
Ya entrepeneur, pens and like shakespeare
When I fuck I hair, collect drawers as souveneirs
Fuck yeah, my crew down German
My career is based on guns, throwin in wheelchairs
Etcetera, damage any lame ass
Who try to front, get and passed like leathers
Whatever hot hardheads get shattered like
Beretta splatter your goose, scatter ya feathers
Say poetry chumps crumbs deal with graphic
Blew my overseas in mansions
If rap was crack, fully packed I be cats
Tax the of the rap drug traffickin
Village get slapped in Manhattan
for rappin, big Ghost steps off

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

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

Sit back relax, fake niggaz don't get
Watch me massage ya brain with slang that's
Projects filled with young men cause
Who is that? Thousand chains and techs
Focus, the brokest of life shit
These mics is like cocaine Sun, check the suicidal hype
Exchange mad blunts taste the
up on fakes outta state for cakes
No doubt, nobody amount, we making dough off of
Puttin on the Land and Allah, it's like that
Pull ya shoes up black, matta of just adapt
Tie up, ya black Nike's and hats
Corners, surrounded with foreigners
dread? Feds caught you grudgin for his bread
But regardless, peace to niggaz with charges
Unify layin in the with La
My Clan done ran from to Atlanta, with stamina
and gamblers, and gram handlers
Tical like the Isle, so God, let's get
Infrared guard yo' Beem, so seek respect
Rude bwoy you bet, it movin par shallah
Pro like tar
the fly shit and stay shinin and
the RZA pours more than Cristal's fine wine
raps go to black
with 50 niggaz on the other side of the map
Knew it's all good and all done what, we want
Mike Tyson of rap shit, pullin out Macs for fun

Four: The Genius/GZA a.k.a. Maximillion

The nigga don't get mad, I got mad of my own
And it's shown my hands grip the chrome microphone
Verbally I catch bodies with shotties
Intriguin emcees, I keep em like potties
I facts, my sword is an axe
to backs invisible, like dope fiend tracks
Sky's the limit, are timid, and nobody knows
How we move wolfs in sheep clothes
Producin data, or software
and off air, the Land of the Lost
Notorious from the North
Strikin niggaz where the Mason-Dixon line