Luyện nghe bài hát Mr T vs Mr Rogers

[Mr. T]
I pity the fool who to step to Clubber Lang
Call me BA biceps cause crush your whole gang
Tuesday, Friday and little Trolly the train
And watch me dip ass in gold
And 'em like my neck chain — SUCKA!
I'll choke you with your own sweater
You even beat me in the land of make believe. PUNK!
I will Mr. T bag you, in the cemetery
Nobody's miss you cause all your friends imaginary

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

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

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