Luyện nghe bài hát Once Upon a Time [Original Mix]

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

Ay yo, you want We got tons of them
Pete, Slum and Tim to bank shit like the Huntington
Get that and dip
Flash the cash in of them
Niggas and shit
Sayin' nothin I'm done them
Oh yo! Peeps ain't got a hold they gun on
Cause if one of cats jump, we all jumpin' in
that!
We got for the some dumb
Bubble yum chewin that don't what they doin' with this rap shit
Rap automatic and the fact is y'all know you bored with the wack shit
We got that phat that 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 the beat
Just causality for S and the V
like action is what we give and receive
Best do we got some shit up our sleeves
to dance to, some shit to the trees
Some shit if you and they help you breathe
Make a nigga 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 for the beat

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

Well it's the S, numero uno, I'm in 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, Vill and we out
No for 98
Settin ya
Getcha self