Luyện nghe bài hát No Gimmicks

[ ]
Lord finesse and blastmaster
styles weigh a ton
Lord finesse, we know you got
Come the cypher and build
Chill out, all mc I
down

[ verse 1: finesse ]
Check it out, come on, your chance to swing
some ill muthafuckas, we don't dance and sing
In '95 we
Servin 'poetic justice' without that nigga singleton
I do my thing while the fans be
Hey yo, I'm so dope, you tap your man and tell him
I don't fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers break
Just give me a with a bass groove
I'm mad funky, ask the
Cause I make you bob your head until muthafuckin neck hurt
So ask me to match, gee
Cause if you ain't real, I'm it to your face like acne
Now run scams and flim-flams
On how they be gettin loose they rusty like a tin man
They rap fast, tryin to cash
But on the to reel, yo, they still soundin half-assed
Yellin and screamin like they got
When they got nothin, so them niggas need to stop frontin
Talkin how be raggin shit
When I don't know if niggas are rappin or talkin muthafuckin arabic
They act so ill, they no
They should go chill, they all mouth no skills
When I'm y'all feel funny
Cause I'm young makin funds like o'neal, money
You want any drama? you better wear plenty
I cut that ass the chef at benny harner's
The funky in it to win it
We gotta keep it yo, no muthafuckin gimmicks

Whoever make a hit the best (that's a gimmick)
You sell records based on how you (that's a gimmick)
Hey yo, that tongue-twistin shit, that's fresh (that's a gimmick)
What's when soft but you're frontin like you're stressed? (that's a gimmick)
What's when only into rap to get paid? (that's a gimmick)
What's you're yellin and screamin up on stage? (that's a gimmick)
When your career is numbered by (that's a gimmick)
What's when your lyrical is just a faze? (that's a gimmick)

[ 2: krs-one ]
I guess yes y'all, to the beat y'all, in the street
Let me put my on 'vibrate', so won't hear it beep
Representin the street, concrete what I speak, yeah, I it
Let it be known, krs is not about a
I grab the mic and rip it, meanwhile stallin
I raise the mic stand, because I'm tall and I the crowd callin
I'm not those other rappers talkin about the caps they peel
Punk, I battle for real
Fuck a record deal you're still into hip-hoppin
With your country ass, sound like you're still pickin
You get thrown across the room in direction, listen
The lyrical teacher's not the one you be checkin
This is my eara, or era or eera, whatever, I'm mad
I shoop, you doop, you doop like
Lyrical terror, you should never ever for mine
When I rhyme I clean up mc's the fresh smell of pine
I got skills, and it
You could slow or up the tempo, your style is fake like janet jackson's nose
I'm sellin that real live shit, and you get hurt
You're sellin fake shit like the home shopping network
You got a rhymes to battle in a second
But frankly the bottom line is: where's your hit
You claim I'm jockin, you claim I'm on dick, where's your witness?
If I'm on your dick, my has got to be syphilis
I come with lyrical fitness
Two months from now you will have bit
Watch me light that ass up like
Don't let me come out on ass
Start flippin the lyrics I be
Be hotter curry chicken
So whether from the east or the west
There's no krs
I got
I came to town to set it off
So when goes 'hit it'
never mimick
Krs-one never use a gimmick

you're ridin the next rapper's dick (that's a gimmick)
When you're r&b, and then you cold (that's a gimmick)
Start rhymin hardcore to get a hit (that's a gimmick)
When get over, but your skills ain't shit (that's a gimmick)
you rap, but you don't have soul (that's a gimmick)
When you cross just to go gold (that's a gimmick)
When not a gangster, but portrayin a role (that's a gimmick)
What's when you shape in somebody else's (that's a gimmick)

[ verse 3: lord ]
Man your station, cause the clan you're
Is to you trash muthafuckas like sanitatian
I shoot and throw rhymes, the whole when it's showtime
(what up, kid? ) brothers know I can hold
On the real I got rhymes
the time's ill I'm blowin up spots like a minefield
Brothers front with chest out
But words finesse's mouth'll leave them niggas stressed out
They make me to my stomach
(so put it on em, kid!) muthafuckas don't want it
can't see me, believe me
They all phoneys, like niggas that be wrestlin on tv
Yo, they're nowhere pro
And niggas couldn't hang if they was muthafuckin
Nowadays a rappers sound fake
Talkin that gangster shit, when they're softer a poundcake
So why frontin with the burner, kid
When you done took more than fuckin tina turner did
You front? so be it
But fuck around the bush, I just speak how I see it
Me fall off? that dead
That's not happenin, kid, so get shit through your thick head
I'll never sellout (what? ) you head
I'll cross over (aight!) word life
So when I it, peep the method
If I never go gold but get credit, I sweat it
In '95 we all in it
We keep it real, yo, no muthafuckin gimmicks

when you rap and don't appreciate the art? (that's a gimmick)
What's when you out just to get a start? (that's a gimmick)
when you make bullshit just for the charts? (that's a gimmick)
What's when you rap, but not from the heart? (that's a gimmick)
What's when you're hardcore, then you pop? (that's a gimmick)
you steal ideas to get props? (that's a gimmick)
When you sell out to be on (that's a gimmick)
What's when you front like hard, but you're not? (that's a gimmick)

[ ]
Now let this be a to all mc's
And
Anyone come across the line will have to pay
Real hip hop is in
hip-hop is in effect
Real hip-hop is in
it respect
We wreck