Luyện nghe bài hát I'm Mad

Erick
the e, and I'm smokin'. wild like tone loc, I'm roastin, bakin' mcs,
The e I'm not jokin' so up, punk, slack up.
your weak posse, before they get smacked up.
One by one, two by two, by three, yo p...
what's up, e.d.? ]
Pass the uzi, to up, any wack mc that show up,
goes one, blast 'im now.
[e, up.]
make me wait-wait* because it might be too late, the punk might escape,
And buck whyle, and in fact, bite my style, and i'm-a catch a charge,
trial.
It's my thing to swing, your first mistake to bring a duck mc can't hang.
forget, I'm crazy swift. my name is erick sermon
[yeah, and I'm smith]
I could act foolish, start blastin'. ha ha ha ha, now laughin'?
let ya slide, but ya owe me, next time you see me...
[...holler like ya me!]
I'm mad...

(here's a story, I've gots to tell) {scratching} (I'm mad!) 4x

My story I tell straight from the heart.
When suckers tried to my shit straight from start.
A young kid destined for success, no old gold, no cocaine, or buddha cess.
Straight up hard work. no and no shorts.
Brainstormin' with the skills that pop taught.
To swingin', yeah, and not to quit.
Now I ride the benz, you ride the dick, with your friends,
Straight up pussy from punk city, my attitude's fucked up and shitty.
From the backstabbers, my so-called friends,
Who swim in my pool. when time, flex the benz,
Around town, down at the south town, cool j tape or k-solo "spellbound"
fly girlies dippin, brothers grippin' and sippin'
Old gold, red bull, on my dick and
I'm lampin' with my ek shades, truck-jewels, obviously the man's paid.
But of not, brother can't get his props
Like for instance, when I cruise up the
In my 560 on my metro phone, chrome kit beamin' all off your dome.
But like a sucka, yeah, you looked the way
That's how I knew on my dick kid, but it's okay.
It's normal, relax, your whole busted.
in the rap skit, ya couldn't be trusted.
'cause my sounds pound from to okinowi...{kiss} peace and I'm ouuuutie!

Stay tuned to this last episode, when I the house and the mic explodes.
is not the buckwild style that I be usin', in fact black,
It causes {mass
It's a fallout, when mcs and crowds call out my name,
Oh a shame I got {fame!}

I'm not a new jack, my are not wack, and in fact,
I'm like clint eastwood, of bullets, rhymes I pack
In my gun, so son, ya better run,
'cause when it comes to hostage and prisoners, we none.
We move wax kilos ...{scratch}
And when my jam the streets, the sounds explode.
Watch the right hook, duck the blow jack,
I wonder the e and the p's at...
they do it again? ] you bet your ass, black.
[see you in until things get the bozack... [i'm mad...]