Luyện nghe bài hát Lyrical Murderers

This is the life, we
I ain't with the and rockin'
That ain't even as a option

nothin' without focus
Woo, Beach
(Lay seats back)
New
(Turn your up)

We we, we murderers
(Detroit)
to the Slaughterhouse
(What you 'bout?)
Where we bring them verbal out, bloaw

We, we, we lyrical
Man, we own these and the freaks they love us
We ain't worried 'bout you
(Slaughterhouse)

Lyrical murderer, blame
I'm a sniper shootin' my way your lame top 10
Pistol at your head if I ain't next to
Then I bust in your face I'm fuckin' Lil' Kim

Niggards, pray to the lyrical Lord
That I fall off like the umbilical before I fill up the morgue
This is how a record
With the double triple syllable sword, I'm iller than all

Dineri, see I'm a literary
Bury niggaz with words, a cemetery
Most rappers are gold
They like they boyfriend's sodomy hole, they of shit

Now you walk through the shadow of death next to that shady street
Where the verbal business and 80's meet
Where them niggaz is
I'm ridin' with my daughter in the front the A.K. in the baby seat

We them copycat killers, unleashin'
Commit lyrical murders and then we re-commit 'em
Lyrics be quality, bitches be givin' me brain
My dick be deep in they heads psychology

Independently pennin' the best words that were said
The mixture of and Everclear
You can't hide, we
Now, picture a grizzly standin' next to a bear

We we, we lyrical
Welcome to the
(What you 'bout?)
Where we them verbal llamas out, bloaw

We, we, we lyrical
Man, we own these streets and the freaks love us
We worried 'bout you fuckers
(Slaughterhouse)

Yeah, hello hip-hop, I am
You dyin'? Yeah, and I'm
A beast so at wake I'll cry lion's tears
And that's no to the pioneers
If we ain't who you tryin' to
either wrong with your eyes and ears

I came in this game Jers'
an MC in our lane to try and merge
Try and run our wave
But I'm with bein' Eddie Levert seein' my son on stage

Gun gon' blaze, act up in this
And I'm a be Nate Robinson and up the point
Your over, run with us or get run over
I'm here to save this and I brung soldiers

This is murder
Me and every track have a physical
When I it in the chest I'm a bit of a curver
So it to death, like the middle of a unfinished burger

Or sometimes I my hand around his throat
'Cause he think his kick is slick or his little snare is
Shoot the bass in the but sometimes I carry a rope
To hang the piano keys when hittin' every note

I'm what no beat's able to
If you suffer writer's block and your label got big plans
Listen to fam, slide a little dough out that budget
And the instrumental hitman

We we, we lyrical
to the Slaughterhouse
(What you 'bout?)
Where we bring them verbal llamas out,

We, we, we murderers
Man, we own these streets and the freaks love us
We ain't worried you fuckers
(Slaughterhouse)