Luyện nghe bài hát Make 'em Pay

First and foremost, some rappers are like fructose
When I cock back these lyrics, y'all punks be ghost
I be the seven, twenty-one, eighteen,
The illest one, I'm almost doper anyone
out the late nights of Bed-Stuy
Steppin' up, put your weapons up, I make heads fly
You're artificial, saccarhin
You're crazy fake, it's than skills you be lackin' in
Concepts you bite, 'cause your identity tight
Tryin' to be somethin' you're not, like pullin' a at a gunfight
I'm troopin' on night air, like number 1-0-6,
And gettin' all up in fuckin' mix
You get me upset, and I got you
'Cause my committee's in your tonight, a'ight?
We got seventeen million of us, plus two million
That makes nineteen mil, lightin' shit up, like Wild
I be the supreme father, the ill kid, with drama
My karma, creates the teflon to pierce your armor
And sure you check the shit, before you walk to me, or talk to me
Steppin' to me improperly, you just may the weaponry
My specialty is tearin' out the frame
You know my name, I rule all game
I'm universal, on all planes, your claim?

Yo, I be your highness, in slickness, you bear witness
Tremendous tropper, verbal nigga, the fitness
Drop you for your spot with the blazer, then I ya
Slice precise, like Benihanas, when I come to the dramas
so swift, that you can't peep the God
As your get buried, six feet deep, in my backyard,
I hard, while your mental, I run through mazes
Dark stages of terror, to shatter your dressing mirror
Your whole gets crushed, your whole show gets bumrushed
Too dumb punks want to enter this rap scene
Kickin' Bobo, but need to be slapped clean
Into oblivion; the true champion always
I bring to the chief, plus their advisers
Size me up, and you find nothing's larger
Catch more wreck on your dome, than a fuckin' barber
So what, you made some dough, you keep on scramblin'
All your vanity, is instantly crushed, when I handlin'
Demandin' you pay, for your weak rhyme display
Coast to coast, I break the fakes

I see myself as the Rap Messiah
Colossal, spreadin' my gospel through electrical
Spit fire through speech, so I can reach and every
Tom, Dick, and Jerry, slippin' petroleum jelly
Too busy in the limelight, can't rhyme
I got divine to bring y'all to light
Somethin' right, to be an MC, you gotta thug
Or to thug you gotta be an MC, this is bugged
love but few; deal with crew and crew only
And think universal, like
Phony pounds and hugs is usually avoided
Give a fuck like Hut, I got to stay Noyd-ed
'Cause that same nigga you trust, be that same cat
that gat that bust, quiet ya, with the silencer
Keep it hush, ashes to dust, then to ashes
it's who pull out the fastest, imagine this
Rap shit without gat shit, or the phony cat
In black, talkin' 'bout how his Mac spit
But this year, Gang Starr got bein' made
No shit bein' played, no fake macks gettin' paid
No Versace MC's, with a full of Mo'
Soundin' like a ho, that old-fashioned show flow
I bombshell pastel Chanel rap, through a Maxwell
Ever since young Krumb, was taught to rap
Goin' deep, process of thought, when my closes
with interpretive robe and sandals, like Moses
Travellin' high sands and lands, for the answers
is spreadin' through the streets, like it was cancer
Too many drinkin' not thinkin', when behind trigger
A thirty-eight escalate the murder rate, for us
It's like, microphone roulette, 'cause nowadays is gettin' wet
Over someone else's gangsta rep