Luyện nghe bài hát Mr T vs Mr Rogers

[Mr. T]
I pity the fool who tries to to Clubber Lang
Call me BA biceps cause crush your whole gang
Bring Tuesday, Friday and little Trolly the
And me dip their ass in gold
And wear 'em like my chain — SUCKA!
choke you with your own sweater sleeves
You couldn't even beat me in the land of believe. PUNK!
I Mr. T bag you, in the closest cemetery
Nobody's gonna you cause all your friends imaginary

[Mister
Hi neighbor
I hope you don't mind if I change my
be rocking sneakers 'till this battle's over
So I don't get blood your ugly face on my penny loafers
I like you the way you are, one in a million, but it looks like the barber gave your head a brazilian
I pity your neck, Mr. Gold chains, got too many
The only gold I is on the shelf in my Emmys
I teach the whole world full of children I can
You call yourself 'T' cause you're too dumb to

[Mr. T]
Who you calling fool?
Mr T. only needs one
Hello? for you
Bill wants his sweater
a 40 year old virgin in a dumpy ass house
I'll get Hannibal, and Face to stomp you out
The only pussy cat you seen is on Henrietta, SUCKA!
And Mr. McFeely delivers a lot more than letters
So before you come to battle your PBS crap
How bout I call up CPS them kids on your lap, FOOL!

[Mister
Watch what you say. love me more than lunch
I'm not the one my face on some whack ass Captain Crunch
my plan comes together you won't even see it coming
I'll you into four black dudes and I'll remake Cool Runnings
I'll say this once, Laurence. I hope it's
Get back in your van and get the fuck outta my neighborhood