Luyện nghe bài hát Holy Moly

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

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

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

Say word? Your is real? Damn, your shit is corny
Rhymes a new page like Mark Foley
And touch kids like when 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 very
To to Rash' once I got past Derek Dudley

Got him on respiration, that's
Bet you Garnett Reid got a Matt Doo
Sometimes I feel like I'm drownin', I tread water
Head above the water, I remember headquarters

Heads up, eyes open, I got my focused
I find hope inside a line, my define opus
Sometimes people fill my thoughts with evil
My record so it broke the needle

At the Mixtape Awards niggaz act like they give a fuck though
And the legacy of Justo
What the claat? No, let the blood flow
You ain't come to pay your respect, what you come fo'?

Too many niggaz die, it's like a stop loss
Hood niggaz ghetto like fried and hot sauce
How you hard? The cops lettin' 50 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 stop
Learn to your speech and be eloquent
Rappers keep sweets, the beats weaker than gelatin

We used to up dust, now we settlin'
Rest in peace to Dilla, Weldon, we forget you
Professor X and Proof we you, word

Rest in peace to Shaka, 21 gun
In the air blak, blak, blak
You're still here 'cause you're through me
You're like a God has given to me, what?