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 I'm sayin'?

There was this one gospel 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

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 shit is phony

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

Rest in peace to Harold Hunter, the greatest from New
out skatin' 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, that's
Bet you Garnett Reid got a Doo tattoo
Sometimes I feel like I'm drownin', I gotta tread
Head the water, I always remember headquarters

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

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

Too many good die, it's like a stop loss
niggaz ghetto like fried wings and hot sauce
How you hard? The lettin' 50 shots off
Baby with 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 we miss you, word

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