Luyện nghe bài hát Once Upon a Time

I'm on a
I hold the pen and twisted
The competition my cats will stay listening (word up)
Detroit to New I still walk the walk
Control dancehall, chillin in my stance y'all
was known to be an emcee
I still rip and flip crowds a frenzy
facts shit, and it's like herbs to bite
Bum rushing mic tec slowly at night
Coincide with the mic take flight shores (word of mouth)
I separate from yours
I look ya up and as I in your face
big mind's on a hum hum
The one you got your idea
Yeah I'm right here son, out the slum
Makin tracks for dough, gettin paid to do
So I blow (what) the niggas respect my flow
Ay yo I'm nice with the pill and I rock with Vill

Ay yo, you want We got tons of them
Pete, Slum and Tim trying to bank like the Huntington
Get money and dip
Flash the in front of them
Niggas and shit
Sayin' nothin I'm done with
Oh yo! Peeps ain't got a hold gun on them
if one of them cats jump, we all jumpin' in
that!
We got somethin' for the some
Bubble yum chewin that don't know what doin' with this rap shit
Rap automatic and the fact is y'all know you bored with the wack shit
We got that phat shit that and
Track shit and when you hear it man I don't how to act, shit

It's like the first related verse and now we with the beat
another causality for S and the V
It's like action is what we give and
Best do believe we got some up our sleeves
Shit to dance to, some shit to the
Some shit if you dyin' and they you breathe
Make a handicap nigga with speed
It's totally with Toronto to V
this for DET in the place to be
Can't the rest R,O,I, and T
Mac Nicholas baby, what could it be?
Please, lace me a scratch for the beat

In the beginning, it was the S, no name shit
Motherfuckers traveled for to Mac Nick
We kick we know they never sound like yours
To the mic lookin' like thoughts
Fuck this rap shit, I'm too for that
I do this shit for kicks my crew, believe that
The S is on the way to makin' emcees
I shoot the kinda rhymes to make the emcees
On the mic I never fight I call an of war
Slice an emcee my palm, a lyrical sword
You really a bottle? You must be ill

Well it's the S, uno, I'm in your favorite
The negroes make the that you run out to get
Now this is at the less, new bomb shit
Mac Nicholas is earnin' on some burner shit

What, Slum and we out
No for 98
ya straight
Getcha laced