Luyện nghe bài hát Suplexes Inside of Complexes and Duplexes

is madness!
This is an (echo)
As a matter of fact, is outrageous

Yeah, young sire, the fuck out Jon Cryer
Rough rider, raw bust inside a
Like I want kids, my head to be haunted
I burn a city down I'm unconscious, baby go on
Take some quaaludes, with Jesus
Batting with the motherfucking ghost of Babe Ruth
Do as a saint do, painful to graceful
Devil on my trails, I'm trying to find the Holy
Right
And if Mars is the farthest man has set his target
Then I don't know why I even
I'm sick of being too nice to people who don't do shit but light
Told myself, "Fuck the world kid, just do you like"
Go and have a food fight, yourself a new life
You're too bright to be a bunch of mediocrity
But all those big words ain't gonna get you
And those abstract ideas for sure won't get you
You got it made in that mad
the fuck you got to be sad about?
Go a rap now, do what you do best, I mean
That's what you do best, fact motherfucker
You suit vest, you need to buy a new
I heard you and your girl in a duplex
I'm a put her ass in a Suplex, the sun east, the moon
You got a clue, what does a get?

My & honey, my Cherie-Cherie Amour
My in her carriage by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the
And the lion the forest
To the wicked fortress where she scorched them in the foreplay
Remember that? He said he'd fight the box to see the
When he was by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard
Now the whole in color, still,
How Em was next of kin and not her mother
Real, her was care-worn
I she migrated to Kansas up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. Gulch from the very beginning of One
Mr. Candyman, the parables
The poetry's like the and songs of Ecclesiastes
should strike the stone and then Moses should make a tablet
The Judge will the wood up in parliament with the mallet
And yell "Hear, Hear," finally some order to rap shit
Finally some sort of water to these cracked lips
I my shit crispy and elegant,
So miss me the irrelevant, the god body is heaven-sent
The hard-body is reverence, the son of Byford
Brother of Fal, every rhyme's
Every line is kosher, livin' la loca
out to Tony Toca, we ballin' like we suppose to