Luyện nghe bài hát Hip-Hop Is Dead

If hip hop should die I wake
put an extended clip inside of my AK
Roll to station, murder the DJ
Roll to every station, the DJ

If hip hop die before I wake
I'll put an extended clip of my AK
Roll to station, murder the DJ
Roll to station, murder the DJ

Hip hop just died mornin'
And dead, she's dead

Yeah, niggaz smoke, laugh, party, and die in the corner
Get cash, live fast, their man's mama
niggaz is ridin' with three llamas
Revenge in their eyes, and the ganja
Word to the wise with villain state of
Grindin', hittin' dimes from behind
Grindin', hittin' Brazilian from behind
(Grindin', hittin' Brazilian from behind)
Whenever, if ever, I roll up, sown up
Any ghetto will ya Nas helped grow us up
My face once graced promotional trucks
Hundred million in billin', I helped 'em up
Gave my my right, I could have gave left
So like my girl Foxy, a nigga Def
So, nigga, who's top ten?
Is it MC
Is it MC

If hip hop die before I wake
I'll put an clip inside of my AK
Roll to station, murder the DJ
Roll to station, murder the DJ

If hip hop die before I wake
put an extended clip inside of my AK
Roll to every station, the DJ
to every station, murder the DJ

Hip hop just this mornin'
And dead, she's dead

The bigger the cap, the the peelin'
Come through, ill, missin' the ceilin'
influenced my raps? Stick-ups and killings
Kidnappings, project buildings, drug
that, why is that?
'Cuz Nas rap is to legitimized crap
'Cuz we love to on ass we gettin'
intellectuals will only half listen
So you blame jazz musicians
Or David with his NBA fashion issues
Oh, I they like me in my tee
You ice me, we here for life, B
On my second marriage, hip hop's my wifey
And for we not takin' it lightly
If hip hop should die, we die
Bodies in the lie together
All now

If hip hop should die before I
I'll put an extended inside of my AK
to every station, murder the DJ
Roll to every station, the DJ

If hip hop should die I wake
I'll put an extended clip of my AK
Roll to every station, the DJ
Roll to station, murder the DJ

Everybody sound the same, the game
when it wasn't all business
If it got where it
So we all gather here for the dearly
Hip since a toddler
One became a man then a mobster
If the let me get my last swig of Vodka
R.I.P., donate your lungs to a Rasta
Went turntables to mp3s
"Beat Street" to commercials on Mickey D's
From gold to Jacobs
From plain facials to Botox and face
I'm lookin' over my
It's about eighty niggaz from my that showed up
And they to show love
Sold out concert, and the are closed shut