Luyện nghe bài hát Once Upon a Time

I'm on a
I hold the pen and stay
The competition my street cats stay listening (word up)
Detroit to New I still walk the walk
Control dancehall, chillin in my b-boy stance
Never was to be an emcee
I still rip and flip crowds a frenzy
Reciting shit, and it's like herbs to bite
Bum mic tec playing slowly at night
Coincide with the mic take above shores (word of mouth)
I separate from yours
I look ya up and as I stare in face
Your big on a hum hum
The one you got idea from
I'm right here son, straight out the slum
Makin tracks for dough, gettin to do shows
So when I blow (what) the niggas my flow
Ay yo I'm nice with the pill and I with Slum Vill

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

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

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

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