Luyện nghe bài hát Mr T vs Mr Rogers

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

Rogers]
Hi there
I hope you mind if I change my shoes
I'll be sneakers 'till this battle's over
So I don't get blood your ugly face on my penny loafers
I like you just the way you are, one in a million, but it looks like the barber your head a brazilian
I pity neck, Mr. Gold chains, you've got too many
The only gold I keep is on the in my Emmys
I the whole world full of children I can tell
You yourself 'T' cause you're too dumb to spell

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

[Mister
Watch what you say. Kids love me than lunch
I'm not the one my face on some whack ass Captain Crunch
When my plan comes 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 understood
Get right back in your van and get the fuck outta my