Luyện nghe bài hát Hey That's Me

It's off the hook home slice, like a fish.
All I wish is that you taste like a Swedish dish.
the L-A-R-S, H-O double-R I-S...
and I CV, and yes I must confess:
I'm back 2003 and the snare pumps.
Back up, Kris Kross, it's my to jump.
See I'm a and I'm balanced,
rocking it Ritchie Valens,
and I'm up to this session,
yes I'm up to fresh challenge.
And I'm thinking, and I'm writing,
and I'm rapping, and fighting
all the layers of apathy
up the zone.
Because I'll your world,
I'll your head.
I'll readjust your with this microphone.
I was in my '88 south on 101,
with the woofer in the back bumping P.E. one.
Free-styling in a genre I create,
props to Melle Mel, D, and all eight
hundred thousand MC's on whose I stand.
I'm just a white kid with a plastic in his hand!
See this MC here spends his feeling fine,
but doesn't often get off in a line.
Fine, time will tell he's headed.
up to chance, like Gretel's path is breaded.
Your criticism? I'm above it! Your BS? rubber glove it!
your heroin and shove it... life you've got to love it.
So get this, steal this, deal this, this away,
I made this song out of my neurons and clay.
It helped my chill for a week and a day,
until one day it working like the city of Pompeii.
But it's okay, hey, I roll it home.
Knick knack paddy whack, my sonic his grown.
like Antoine De Saint Exuperey,
when I rock the chorus of song I say...

"Lars Horris," hey me!
Swedish, part Australian, full fun boy G.
"Lars Horris," hey me!
I scored on my SAT's.
"Lars Horris," hey me!
I'll the CoHo like 1-2-3.
"Lars Horris," hey me!
I drop English and and biology.

I piss off with my comic in the Daily. "Why's it called '27th Street'?" Man, don't front me.
Jorge Cham might do "PhD," but can he try to rock the mike like me?
And I'm weird like Al, attend Cal, D.J.'s my buddy. Who's Mike?
Josh plays bass and I take vows,
to my hip-hop rhymes that I'm now.
And I women like GER's,
I the destruction of SUV cars.
I think and Palestine should get along.
I sampled Nine Inch Nails for song.
And I'm so post-modern, I don't exist.
Did you hear P. Diddy?
You got dissed!
It's the century, MC's please,
you're killing when you sample the Bee Gees!
MC's today rap about five things:
narcotics, cars, girls, clothes, and the bling.
of grandeur in full swing,
fascist self focus and rings.
But if Martin King were alive today,
how he weigh the decay displayed?
Homogenized identities, betrayed,
more to rap than just getting paid.
And there's more to life than MTV and Pieces,
and when I sit in silence, my love for increases.
It feels great to pull the plug on the TV,
and make my own in society.
And while I this beat, you're doing spoken word,
to get your naked voice heard.
If I didn't know ProTools, I'd be you
and I could just do spoken word if I to.

"Lars Horris," hey me!
You see me on the street bumping Run-DMC.
"Lars Horris," hey me!
my BA I'll get my PhD.
"Lars Horris," hey me!
Metaphysically fly like John "The Flea."
"Lars Horris," hey me!
Rewriting Bronte like Wide Sea.