Luyện nghe bài hát Mortal Thought (I Must Roc The Mic)

You never will the champion
You never will the champion
Calm my selector

Adjust that treble right now adjust the
it up, stop frontin'
C'mon, it up
Alright, check it out ninety-three lyrics, we go

I never want a jheri up under my hat
The in my bed has got to be strictly black
I want money if my lyrics are wack
So I must, rock, the mic

I play only the and I play only rap
I the African, the European, and Jap
I got to show you that I am all that
So I must, rock, the mic

Are you tired of lyrical liars, fliers
Wannabe but really good triers
Tripping mic cords, getting you bored
A total fraud, this kind of thing I can't

So I pick up the mic and kill it ill it top it
The cough is a skillet, where get fried in it
You got beef chill it, blood I it
After seven years of ripping the party and I'm still widdit
You call my I don't think about suing ya
I come to the club with that

Laughing I'm doin' ya the crowd is booin' ya
Gimme one month, record for record on tape ruin ya
Some likkle awl pon bwoy wanna if rule de city
His style is lookin' pretty beats and rhymes are dibby

Here comes the ratical teacha
I'll eat ya defeat ya beat ya till ya and ya teeth chatter
You'll be goin' through convulsions as I data
Any can be a decapitated rapper now what's the matter

You're full of junk than a sausage
Let me show you what a real hip hop

My from the Bronx
My from the Bronx
My posse the Bronx
My from the Bronx

I want a jheri curl up under my hat
The woman in my bed has got to be black
I never want money if my are wack
So I must, rock, the mic

I only the reggae and I play only rap
I the African, the European, and Jap
Beneath I got to show you I am all that
So I must, rock, the mic

Of course, yeah I'm the most recording artist in your life
Never have to repeat a style twice, precise
In a lyrical drought like water to your lips oh yes my lyrics will
I'm nice, like and rice, I am delicious

Who's the freshest on the mic, you don't want to fuck with Kris is
Lyric for lyric for rhyme style for style I break you like dishes
Either you come fully correct or the lyrics you makin' wishes
We got no time for fake black leaders and dreamers wishes

You see a fraud, I mean a fraud in fraudulation
I know what it is, the crown of rhyme you're tastin'
And yes, before the flavor hits greedy tongue
You get ripped up by

Now, lyrics, somebody want lyrics, from the terrorist
a little somethin for you all to remember Kris
And remember this I am no pessimist, of an optimist
revolutionist, yes the hardest artist
And the smartest, Premier, spark

My from the Bronx
My from the Bronx
My posse the Bronx
My posse from the

I want a jheri curl up under my hat
The woman in my bed has got to be black
I never want money if my are wack
So I must, rock, the mic

I play only the reggae and I play rap
I the African, the European, and Jap
Beneath I got to you that I am all that
So I must, rock, the mic