Luyện nghe bài hát No Gimmicks

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

[ verse 1: finesse ]
Check it out, on, here's your chance to swing
some ill muthafuckas, we don't dance and sing
In '95 we
Servin 'poetic justice' without nigga john singleton
I do my thing while the fans be
Hey yo, I'm so dope, you better tap your man and him
I fake moves, I scrape crews, I make brothers break fool
Just give me a with a bass groove
I'm mad funky, ask the
Cause I make you bob your head until your muthafuckin hurt
So ask me to match, gee
Cause if you real, I'm bringin 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 stack
But on the reel to reel, yo, they still soundin
Yellin and like they got somethin
When they got nothin, so them niggas need to stop frontin
Talkin how they be shit
When I don't know if niggas are rappin or talkin muthafuckin arabic
act so ill, they no frills
They should go chill, they all with no skills
When I'm around feel funny
Cause I'm young makin funds like o'neal, money
You want any drama? you wear plenty armor
I cut that ass like the at benny harner's
The man's in it to win it
We gotta keep it real yo, no gimmicks

Whoever make a hit they the (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)
when you're soft but you're frontin like you're stressed? (that's a gimmick)
What's you're 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)
when your lyrical style is just a faze? (that's a gimmick)

[ 2: krs-one ]
I yes y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the street
Let me put my beeper on 'vibrate', so 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 keep the callin
I'm not like those other rappers about the caps they peel
Punk, I battle for real
a record deal when you're still into hip-hoppin
With your country ass, sound you're still pickin cotton
You get thrown across the room in direction, listen
The lyrical teacher's not the one you should be
is my eara, or era or eera, whatever, I'm mad clever
I shoop, you doop, you doop salt-n-pepa
terror, you should never ever come for mine
When I rhyme I clean up mc's with the fresh of pine
I got skills, and it
You could slow or speed up the tempo, your style is fake like janet nose
I'm sellin that real live shit, and you get hurt
You're sellin that fake shit like the home shopping
You got a lotta rhymes to in a second
But frankly the bottom line is: where's hit record?
You claim I'm jockin, you claim I'm on your dick, where's witness?
If I'm on your dick, my has got to be syphilis
I come with lyrical fitness
Two months from now you have bit this
Watch me light ass up like christmas
Don't let me out on that ass
Start flippin the lyrics I be
Be hotter curry chicken
So whether the east or from the west
no other krs
I got
I came to your to set it off
So finesse goes 'hit it'
I'll never
Krs-one could never use a

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

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

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

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