Luyện nghe bài hát No Gimmicks

[ ]
Lord and blastmaster krs-one
styles weigh a ton
Lord finesse, we you got skills
Come into the cypher and
out, all mc I kill
Come

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

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

[ verse 2: ]
I guess yes y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the
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 the mic and rip it, meanwhile they stallin
I raise the mic stand, because I'm tall and I keep the callin
I'm not like those other rappers talkin about the they peel
Punk, I battle mc's for
a record deal when you're still into hip-hoppin
With your country ass, sound like still pickin cotton
You get thrown across the room in that direction,
The lyrical not the one you should be checkin
is my eara, or era or eera, whatever, I'm mad clever
I shoop, you doop, you doop salt-n-pepa
Lyrical terror, you should never ever for mine
When I rhyme I clean up mc's with the 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 shit, and you could get hurt
You're that fake shit like the home shopping network
You got a lotta rhymes to battle in a
But frankly the bottom line is: where's hit record?
You claim I'm jockin, you claim I'm on dick, where's your witness?
If I'm on your dick, my name has got to be
I come with lyrical physical
Two months from now you will bit this
Watch me light ass up like christmas
let me come out on that ass
Start flippin the lyrics I be
Be hotter than curry
So whether the east or from the west
There's no krs
I got
I came to town to set it off
So when goes 'hit it'
I'll mimick
could never use a gimmick

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

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

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

[ ]
Now let this be a lesson to all
And
Anyone that come across the will have to pay
hip hop is in effect
Real hip-hop is in
Real hip-hop is in
Give it
We catch