Luyện nghe bài hát No Airplay

Yo the brooklyn is gonna collapse y'know?
Yo this wyclef and the refugee all-stars up in here
Yo what's this I hear about the police in
Turn jam up, yo, yo
This the type of jam that be getting no
I want the whole world to hear this joint here, yo
This the type of jam that be getting no
You for it buddy, here it comes

One two, out for the man in blue
Three four, I keep it raw and
Five six, you're us with nightsticks
Seven eight, I'm forced to pack a
ten, you put me in a pen; if I could
Do it all again, I'd probably bust chin
*repeat 2x: first time "ah"; second "once I leave the pen"*

I'm from a land of black bats, alley rats and
up my car, set me up for the carjack
Under pressure, I leave the gat
Two straps, a total of caps
Say positive? no positivity
positivity, more positivity brutality
Thugs get angry, the violence
You want peace, make wyclef chief of
Riding through the hood, the same ol story
It's either you play ball or you dealy dealy
Standin on the when the spot get hot
to get set up, by a crooked cop
So I'm back, rhymin on instrumentals
Anything I touch, it turns
Me and wonder, we keep it credible
For the streets, at the same time, we eat
When we commercialize it's to
We to sell a hundred mil before we die
But jerry is broke, that's the
Nine-seven, like no more eviction
No more war milk, no government cheese
Police keep on at our bulletproof bentley

Yo this the of jam that be getting no airplay
The brooklyn bridge to collapse, apocalypse
the type of jam that be getting no airplay
The ghettoes are fed up, we got the in the air

One two, out for the man in blue
four, I keep it raw and hardcore
Five six, you're beating us with
Seven eight, I'm to pack a thirty-eight
Nine ten, you put me in a pen; if I
Do it all again, I'd probably bust your

Yo bust
Forty caliber, seventeen your character
Waterworld's world, underwater, sub
Derringer, one in the challenger
Seven, four-eight, on the calender
My word verses, raps you rap nervous
It's worthless, you get up, on the surface
Projectile, my forty-four style, on silver
The red ripper, fill up the nigga
Armageddeon, you smack dead on, a crisis
The nicest, for bars, of preciseness

One two, out for the man in blue
Three four, I it raw and hardcore
six, you're sticking me with nightsticks
Seven eight, I'm forced to call
Nine ten, you put me in a if I could
Do it all again, I'd probably your whole chin

You got a gat nigga, use it, go 'head it
got raw footage of me dodgin bullets
I walk the streets with heat, three
niggaz twin glocks with triplets
When I shit I lace it, you get punched in face with
Puncutations of phrases
I assure you the vocalist before you
Will destroy you with temperatures hot to flamebroil you
My tongue moves faster than yours do
Every three styles I change my voiceboxes oil
Embarass you in of your crew to annoy you
If you know some chicks that suck a good dick, then employ you
To this hip-hop shit, canibus loyal
That's why every killuminati I somebody for you
I'm warnin you, me versus you, I you
My balance enables me to squaredance in a
Your head'll spin so fast you'll catch
I lyrical witchcraft on your bitch ass
Make your hard drive crash to c backslash (c:/)
Go back to the roots and your wack ass, nigga

One two, out for the man in blue
Three four, I keep it raw and
Five six, you're us with nightsticks
Seven eight, I'm forced to pack a
ten, you put me in a pen; if I could
Do it all again, I'd probably bust your whole
Where brooklyn at? where at? (right here, right here)
new jersey in the house...

The people gestapo, what what
Yo, there'll be no sequel to this
will be no sequel to this revolution
The people gestapo
There'll be no sequel to revolution, what what