Luyện nghe bài hát Mr T vs Mr Rogers

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

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

[Mr. T]
Who you calling dumb
Mr T. only one letter
Hello? for you
Bill wants his sweater
You're a 40 year old in a dumpy ass house
I'll get Hannibal, Murdoch and Face to you out
The pussy cat you ever seen 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 about kids on your lap, FOOL!

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