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, and blues, soul, you know what I'm sayin'?

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 poly
I give you intimate details so you can get to me

These corporate rappers like, "Why this pickin' on me?"
You rap way to the top but now it's gettin' lonely
Kids is hungry and you lookin' like a steak Nick & Tony's
But don't want your jewels 'cause your shit is phony

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are not Short, you are not
not a player or a pimp, money stop that
Learn to master your and be eloquent
Rappers keep sweets, the beats weaker than gelatin

We used to kick up dust, now we
Rest in peace to Dilla, Weldon, we can't you
X and Proof we miss you, word

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