Luyện nghe bài hát Once Upon a Time

I'm on a
I hold the pen and stay
The competition my street cats will stay (word up)
Detroit to New York I still the walk
Control dancehall, in my b-boy stance y'all
Never was to be an emcee
I still rip and flip crowds into a
Reciting facts shit, and it's like herbs to
Bum rushing mic tec playing slowly at
Coincide with the mic take flight above (word of mouth)
I separate from yours
I ya up and as I stare in your face
Your big on a hum hum
The one you got your from
Yeah I'm here son, straight out the slum
tracks for dough, gettin paid to do shows
So when I blow (what) the niggas respect my
Ay yo I'm nice with the pill and I rock with Slum

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

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

In the beginning, it was the S, never no name
traveled for miles to Mac Nick
We kick rhymes we they never sound like yours
To the mic lookin' cheap thoughts
Fuck this rap shit, I'm too smart for
I do shit for kicks with my crew, believe that
The S is on the way to emcees quick
I the kinda rhymes to make the emcees duck
On the mic I never fight I an angel of war
Slice an with 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 music you run out to get
Now this is at the less, new bomb shit
Mac Nicholas is earnin' money on burner shit

What, Slum and we out
No for 98
Settin ya
self laced