Luyện nghe bài hát Lyrical Murderers

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

nothin' without focus
Woo, Long
(Lay your back)
New
(Turn speakers up)

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

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

Lyrical murderer, Rakim
I'm a sniper shootin' my way into your top 10
Pistol at your head if I next to Eminem
I bust in your face like I'm fuckin' Lil' Kim

Niggards, better pray to the Lord
That I fall off like the umbilical cord before I up the morgue
This is how a killer
With the edged triple syllable sword, I'm iller than all

Dineri, see I'm a genius
Bury niggaz with words, a linguist
Most rappers are gold
They like they sodomy hole, they full of shit

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

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

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

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

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

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

I came in this game Jers'
Ain't an MC in our lane to try and
Try and run with our
But I'm cool bein' Eddie Levert seein' my son on stage

Gun blaze, act up in this joint
And I'm a be Nate Robinson and back up the
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 stab it in the I'm a bit of a curver
So it bleeds to death, the middle of a unfinished burger

Or sometimes I my hand around his throat
'Cause he his kick is slick or his little snare is dope
the bass in the face but sometimes I carry a rope
To hang the piano when they 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 murderers
to the Slaughterhouse
(What you 'bout?)
Where we bring verbal llamas out, bloaw

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