Luyện nghe bài hát Holy Moly

Yeah, as a kid growin' up in
My was a DJ, he had a bunch of records
Funk, jazz, and blues, soul, you know what I'm sayin'?

There was one gospel record I liked like, like
Like holy moly, I might get some and leave you holy, holy
Yeah, this rhyme is so fat, it's poly
I give you details so you can get to know me

corporate rappers like, "Why this dude pickin' on me?"
You rap your way to the top but now it's gettin'
is hungry and you lookin' like a steak from Nick & Tony's
But don't nobody want your 'cause your shit is phony

Say word? shit is real? Damn, your shit is corny
Rhymes turn a new page like Mark
And touch kids like Larry Clark gave the part to Chloe

in peace to Harold Hunter, the greatest from New York
Started out for Zoo York, word
Hangin' out at The Gavin, I was lucky
To talk to Rash' once I got past Derek

Got him on respiration, pre-Badu
Bet you Garnett got a Matt Doo tattoo
Sometimes I like I'm drownin', I gotta tread water
Head above the water, I always headquarters

Heads up, open, I got my mind focused
I hope inside a line, my rhymes define opus
Sometimes hopeless people my thoughts with evil
My record so hard it the needle

At the Mixtape Awards niggaz act like they give a fuck though
And disrespect the legacy of
What the blood claat? No, let the flow
You come to pay your respect, then what you come fo'?

Too many good niggaz die, it's like a stop
Hood niggaz ghetto fried wings and hot sauce
How you hard? The lettin' 50 shots off
Baby Jay-Z's the knockoff Scott Storch beat

You are not Short, you are not
You're not a player or a pimp, money that
Learn to master your speech and be
Rappers keep peddlin' sweets, the beats weaker gelatin

We used to up dust, now we settlin'
in peace to Dilla, Weldon, we can't forget you
Professor X and Proof we miss you,

Rest in to Shaka, 21 gun salute
In the air blak, blak, blak
You're still here 'cause you're livin' me
You're like a gift God has given to me,