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

You never conquer the champion
You never conquer the champion
down my selector

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

I never 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 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

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

So I up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it
The cough is a skillet, MC's get fried in it
You got beef chill it, blood I it
After seven long years of ripping the party and I'm still
You call my name I think about suing ya
I come to the club with booyaka

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

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

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

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

I want a jheri 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 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

Of course, yeah I'm the brilliant recording artist in your life
Never to repeat a rhyme style twice, precise
In a lyrical drought 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
for lyric rhyme 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 black leaders and dreamers blowin' wishes

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

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

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

I never want a jheri curl up my hat
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly
I never 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
Beneath I got to you that I am all that
So I must, rock, the mic