Luyện nghe bài hát Reheated Pop!

Buy my full-length
My colorfully packaged disembodied
Converted to ring used in car ads
by winged gnomes over the head of Dick Clark
Cover pages graced by the chiseled abs
Of this now slab of dead pop diva
Recreated as the head of Biz
Spliced on top of Kitty
On a virtual land with a hip-kink
It's lip-synched to my song and to telecine
And the nothing left of me is left to bask in a flash

I've been so successful 'till I died
And my label wished my chariot
Pre-board
I die in a hail of gunfire
I doing extreme sports at a resort
On a bungee cord on a ski
No need to ask how a dead rapper can be a label's cow
They just record me months on G-funk string chords
Add an R&B
Hit a key to punch
though I'm dead

I was booked on a
To exhaust notes dressed a cockroach
Now I'm cooked and ate with a and knife
As your reheated pop

I'm framed a caption reading "prog-rap"
And open-handed god smacks
By partisan zealots who not only think I draft-dodged
But that my catalog is wack
And for it I be flogged and smacked
But little do they know I'm already
And their complaints are small and
My autopsy was broadcast and on a webcam
I'm a dead man with golden in my bedpan

But my pop song climbs
And you can buy it when you shop
Prop my lifeless up next to the podium as I accept applause
I'm an award-winning dude
a tour pending and a celebrity love interest
I a movie deal to play a starring role
The film crew doesn't even I'm dead
I'm your own
I'm dead but don't unplug my phone