Luyện nghe bài hát Have 2

1]
These rappers saying I never quote
They faker than them letter that Solar be that Guru wrote
I wanna slit they throat and go and stab kids
I'm underground and give a fuck who Rebecca Black is
Distributing these knuckles straight your glass chin
I Manute Bol a nigga, I put 'em in a long casket
The spitter that's sinister as a witches cackling
H1N1 off my tongue but there is no
I'm and nocturnal and graphic like a whores journal
So I don't gotta rhyme I'm turning purple to merk and serve you
I get more checks than my ese homie
When I clear you out early a Jonas Brother's curfew
You try to sue the
be saved by breathing tubes
Jesus wearing a T-Shirt that "What Would Chino Do?"
I'm here to your doom
XL is a
You will never see me coming like a camouflage
The true villain, never through
My are just big fans, should be spinning on my bedroom ceiling
But Chino got ammo for every that's hated him
And a finger that's twitching like Mohammad Ali's brainstem

I don't wanna hurt you but I will if I too {X4}

2]
It's uncanny how many are to end me
I deserve Emmys and and plenty of pennies
And pretty Chevy's on hydrolics
Verses they're on anabolics
Making rappers cry babies when they got the colic
These wanna be me bad
If imitation is the form of flattery
Than my should be as flat as Paris Hilton's ass
I'm trying to bring skin back
But El Debarge can't keep his path out of
The Puerto Rican spic been sicker Auswitch
Since Noah's Ark was just a pile of
You think you're fabulous till the double barrellers
Outside house and it's singing like Christmas carollers
I spit till I'm
I'm sicker Raz-B
When Chris Stokes, nah erase that shit fucking nasty
You softer than Levine shooting shrapnal at the king
The madder rapper that'll your bladder matter and spleen
It's an animal thing and on grave I will dance on
Your pussy CD will not go double

3]
Yo
They try to mimic my energy, it meant to be
Consider me Lecter giving out food recipes
Your ass kicked and your to the casket choosed
rubbing me the wrong way like a bad masseuse
Ricanstruction ain't an album it's a exhibition
Sit back and the skeleton key into the ignition
Hold hands in a realize that the table's risen
In an industry that's frail and fucking calcium
Thank Heaven that the visionary Pen has back arisen
Fucking beat that I'm given in missionary position
My rhymes not written for fame or to get rich
But therapeutically put my in the electric chair and hit the switch