Luyện nghe bài hát Holy Moly

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

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

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

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

Rest in peace to Harold Hunter, the greatest New York
out skatin' for Zoo York, word
Hangin' out at The Gavin, I was very
To talk to Rash' once I got past Dudley

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

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

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

Too good niggaz die, it's like a stop loss
Hood niggaz ghetto like fried wings and hot
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 or a pimp, money stop that
Learn to master your speech and be
Rappers peddlin' sweets, the beats weaker than gelatin

We to kick up dust, now we settlin'
Rest in to Dilla, Weldon, we can't forget you
Professor X and Proof we you, word

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