Luyện nghe bài hát Mr T vs Mr Rogers

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

Rogers]
Hi there
I hope you don't mind if I change my
I'll be rocking 'till this battle's over
So I don't get blood from your 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 neck, Mr. Gold chains, you've got too many
The only gold I is on the shelf in my Emmys
I teach the whole world of children I can tell
You call yourself 'T' you're too dumb to spell

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

Rogers]
Watch what you say. Kids love me more lunch
I'm not the one with my face on some whack ass Captain
When my plan together you won't even see it coming
I'll chop you four black dudes and I'll remake Cool Runnings
I'll say this once, Laurence. I hope it's
Get right back in van and get the fuck outta my neighborhood