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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're full of more than a sausage
Let me show you a real hip hop artist

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

I never want a jheri up under my hat
The in my bed has got to be strictly black
I never money if my lyrics 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 show you that I am all
So I must, rock, the mic

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

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

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

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

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

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

I only the reggae 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