Luyện nghe bài hát Make 'em Pay

First and foremost, some rappers are sweet fructose
When I back these lyrics, y'all 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
Steppin' up, y'all put your weapons up, I make fly
artificial, like saccarhin
You're crazy fake, it's than skills you be lackin' in
Concepts you bite, 'cause identity ain't tight
Tryin' to be somethin' not, like pullin' a knife 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 city tonight, a'ight?
We got seventeen of us, plus two million Indians
That makes nineteen mil, lightin' up, like Wild Bill
I be the supreme father, the ill kid, with drama
My karma, creates the teflon to pierce body armor
And make you check the shit, before you walk to me, or talk to me
to me improperly, you just may catch the weaponry
My specialty is tearin' out the frame
You know my fuckin' name, I all game
I'm universal, on all planes, your claim?

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

I see as the black Rap Messiah
Colossal, spreadin' my gospel through wires
Spit fire through speech, so I can reach and every
Tom, Dick, and Jerry, slippin' like petroleum
Too busy in the limelight, can't rhyme
I got divine right to bring to light
Somethin' ain't right, to be an MC, you gotta
Or to you gotta be an MC, this shit is bugged
Show love but few; deal with and crew only
And think universal, Sony
pounds and fake hugs is usually avoided
Give a like Pizza Hut, I got to stay Noyd-ed
'Cause that same nigga you trust, be that same cat
Behind that gat that bust, ya, with the silencer
it hush, ashes to dust, then dust to ashes
Nowadays it's who out the fastest, imagine this
Rap shit this gat shit, or the phony cat
In black, 'bout how much his Mac spit
But this year, Gang Starr got bein' made
No wack shit bein' played, no macks gettin' paid
No Versace MC's, a mouth full of Mo'
Soundin' like a ho, spittin' that show flow
I bombshell that Chanel rap, through a Maxwell
Ever since Krumb, was taught to rap well
Goin' deep, process of thought, when my eyes
Awaken with interpretive and sandals, like Moses
Travellin' sands and Eastern lands, for the answers
Ignorance is spreadin' through the streets, like it was
Too many drinkin' not thinkin', when that trigger
A thirty-eight escalate the murder rate, for us
It's like, microphone roulette, 'cause nowadays is gettin' wet
Over else's fake gangsta rep