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

You never will the champion
You never will conquer the
Calm down my

Adjust treble right now adjust the bass
Turn it up, frontin'
C'mon, it up
Alright, it out ninety-three lyrics, here we go

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

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

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

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

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

Here comes the rootical teacha
I'll eat ya defeat ya ya till ya stagger 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 of more junk than a sausage
Let me show you a real hip hop artist

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, lyrics, want lyrics, from the lyrical terrorist
Here's a little somethin for you all to Kris
And this I am no pessimist, more of an optimist
Activist revolutionist, yes the artist
And the smartest, Premier, spark

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

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

I play only the reggae and I 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