Luyện nghe bài hát No Gimmicks

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

[ 1: lord finesse ]
Check it out, come on, your chance to swing
With some ill muthafuckas, we dance and sing
In '95 we
Servin 'poetic justice' without that nigga john
I do my while 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 make brothers fool
Just give me a beat a bass groove
I'm mad funky, ask the
Cause I make you bob your head until your neck hurt
So ask me to match, gee
Cause if you ain't real, I'm bringin it to face like acne
Now rappers run scams and
On how they be gettin loose when they rusty a tin man
They rap fast, tryin to cash
But on the reel to reel, yo, they still soundin
Yellin and screamin like they got
When don't 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
act so ill, they no frills
They should go chill, they all mouth no skills
When I'm around y'all feel
Cause I'm makin funds like shaquille o'neal, money
You any drama? you better wear 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 a hit they 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 kinda (that's a gimmick)
What's when you're soft but frontin like you're stressed? (that's a gimmick)
when you're only into rap to get paid? (that's a gimmick)
What's when you're yellin and up on stage? (that's a gimmick)
When your career is by days? (that's a gimmick)
What's when your lyrical is just a faze? (that's a gimmick)

[ verse 2: ]
I yes y'all, to the beat y'all, bring in the street
Let me put my beeper on 'vibrate', so won't it beep
the street, concrete what I speak, yeah, I live it
Let it be known, krs is not a gimmick
I grab the mic and rip it, they stallin
I raise the mic stand, because I'm and I keep the crowd callin
I'm not like other rappers talkin about the caps they peel
Punk, I mc's for real
Fuck a record deal when you're into hip-hoppin
With your country ass, sound like still pickin cotton
You get across the room in that 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 like salt-n-pepa
Lyrical terror, you never ever come for mine
I rhyme I clean up mc's with the fresh smell of pine
I got skills, and it
You could or speed up the tempo, your style is fake like janet jackson's nose
I'm sellin that live shit, and you could get hurt
You're sellin that fake shit the home shopping network
You got a lotta 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 your dick, where's your
If I'm on your dick, my has got to be syphilis
I come with physical fitness
Two months from now you have bit this
Watch me light that ass up christmas
Don't let me out on that ass
flippin the lyrics I be kickin
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'
I'll mimick
Krs-one could use a gimmick

you're ridin the next rapper's dick (that's a gimmick)
When r&b, and then you cold flip (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 have (that's a gimmick)
you cross over just to go gold (that's a gimmick)
When not a gangster, but portrayin a role (that's a gimmick)
What's you shape in somebody else's mould? (that's a gimmick)

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

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

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