Luyện nghe bài hát Make 'em Pay

First and foremost, some rappers are like fructose
When I cock back these lyrics, punks best be ghost
I be the seven, twenty-one, eighteen,
The illest one, I'm almost than anyone
Straight out the late of Bed-Stuy
up, y'all 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, your identity ain't tight
Tryin' to be somethin' you're not, like pullin' a knife at a
I'm troopin' on night air, flight 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 Indians
That makes nineteen mil, lightin' shit up, Wild Bill
I be the supreme father, plus the ill kid, with
My karma, creates the teflon to pierce your armor
And make sure you check the shit, you walk to me, or talk to me
Steppin' to me improperly, you just may catch the
My specialty is tracks out the frame
You know my fuckin' name, I all game
I'm universal, on all planes, your claim?

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

I see myself as the black Rap
Colossal, my gospel through electrical wires
Spit fire through speech, so I can reach each and
Tom, Dick, and Jerry, slippin' like petroleum
Too busy in the limelight, rhyme tight
I got divine right to bring y'all to
ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta thug
Or to you gotta be an MC, this shit is bugged
Show love but few; deal with crew and only
And universal, like Sony
pounds and fake hugs is usually avoided
Give a fuck like Pizza Hut, I got to stay
'Cause that same you trust, could be that same cat
Behind that gat that bust, quiet ya, with the
Keep it hush, to dust, then dust to ashes
Nowadays it's who pull out the fastest, imagine
Rap shit this gat shit, or the phony cat
In black, talkin' 'bout how much his Mac
But this year, Starr got changes bein' made
No wack bein' played, no fake macks gettin' paid
No Versace MC's, with a mouth of Mo'
Soundin' like a ho, spittin' that show flow
I bombshell that pastel Chanel rap, through a
Ever young Krumb, was taught to rap well
Goin' deep, process of thought, when my eyes
with interpretive robe and sandals, like Moses
Travellin' high sands and lands, for the answers
Ignorance is through the streets, like it was cancer
Too many not thinkin', when behind that trigger
A thirty-eight the murder rate, for us niggaz
It's like, microphone roulette, 'cause nowadays is gettin' wet
someone else's fake gangsta rep