Luyện nghe bài hát Slap Them Up

Tellin' it like it is, about now D.J. Premier
Is in the motherfuckin' and shit
Ya know what I'm sayin'? But yo, yo Kris, run shit
Ya what I'm sayin'? That, that shit, my joint
Run that motherfucker, it's right kid

(Do it, do, do, do it)
Drop bass line, you want lyrics?
We give ya lyrics, check it out now, one
(Do it, do, do, do it)

When we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s up, woy
Gal, ya come slap them up
When we in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy
Ill will, them up

MC's get ate, get like a pretzel
And get if they ever try to step to
They can't a MC with loose lips
a lotta shit but sink no motherfuckin' ships

Lyrics make bigger holes hollow tips
another rapper body get stiff
Just in church, we pass the basket
As I over his casket

Fuck it, kick the right over
And say, "See ya, hmm, nice to ya"
Got another to see
Yo Kris, bust ass certainly

If you're get off the pot
Let the original rock the spot
You stand there and jock,
is absolutely ludicrous, what can you do to Kris

Chattin' foolishness, step along quick with stupidness
It's me rippin' this for self, where ya lookin'?
I got more rhymes than all the Jamaicans in
So beat it or be seated, Gee I'm mad

Young boy, you see me, run along and make pee-pee
I was rhymes when 'La-Di-Da-Di' was a demo
Admit you been on my tip for years and just can't to let go
Go, go your mother, tell her you wanna battle KRS quick
I bet the minute you get home get your ass whipped

ill mad styles is what I give 'em
Not a run of the 'em, I drill 'em, I got ridiculous rhythm
None of my styles you can get 'em
Still um, will um, your crew come get some so I can 'em

Well, I roll by but don't let it fool ya
If I got beef my crew'll damn to ya
We don't no games, I'll come straight to your rest
up your shirt and blast you in your chest, well, that was fresh

A fad doesn't fill the bill, but mad will
Don't let me have to kill you kid, God still
Greed will lead your need to
But your speed, speech

outreach is a breach of what I teach
For styles you're a leech
If I was Spanish I'd say, "You lie a beech"
Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow

Wow, for a amateur you really hard
But you're really a bitch, you get it together
Call me, here's my
Check the list, you lack control, mental behavior
Lyrical talent, and flavor

I got no time for amateur rhyme, you be hurt
Thinkin' hard because you wear a gangsta T-Shirt
I'll smash your wanna-be ass in the deep
Black, you'll come up dizzy sayin', "How da he do dat?"

'Cause yappin' like you can't be reached
If your name ain't Arrested Development, your speech
Time to ill, I got mad skills to
Not a fake, I got more styles than Drake's got Tasty

Gotta be the best Gee, don't try to me
You'll get jacked son, even if name is not Jesse
Let's be up front I meet ya
Peace, uh, I'm the motherfuckin'

When we in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy
Gal, will ya slap them up
When we come in all de 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy
Gal, will ya slap them up

Do it, do, do, do it
Yo South Bronx, South Bronx
South Bronx, South yo, Uptown
Brooklyn's in the house, lemme tell ya 'bout Staten
What Queens? Do it, do, do, do it, do it, do, do, do it