Luyện nghe bài hát Reheated Pop!

Buy my posthumous
My colorfully packaged shriek
Converted to tones used in car ads
Sung by winged over the head of Dick Clark
Cover pages by the chiseled hard abs
Of this now slab of dead pop diva
Recreated as the of Biz Mark
Spliced on top of Hello
On a virtual land mass a hip-kink
It's lip-synched to my song and to telecine
And the nothing of me is left to bask in a camera flash

I've never so successful 'till I died
And my label wished my heavenly
defunct
I didn't die in a hail of
I died doing sports at a resort
On a bungee on a ski jump
No need to ask how a dead rapper can be a label's cow
They just record me months before on G-funk string
Add an R&B
Hit a keyboard key to
though I'm dead

I was on a fortnight
To notes dressed like a cockroach
Now I'm cooked and ate with a fork and
As your pop sensation

I'm framed under a reading "prog-rap"
And given god smacks
By partisan zealots who not only think I Iraq
But that my back is wack
And for it I should be and smacked
But little do they know I'm already
And complaints are small and petty
My autopsy was broadcast and shot on a
I'm a dead man with golden blood in my

But my pop song climbs
And you can buy it you shop online
Prop my lifeless body up next to the podium as I accept
I'm an dead dude
With a pending and a celebrity love interest
I signed a deal to play a starring role
The film crew doesn't suspect I'm dead
I'm your own
I'm dead but unplug my phone charger