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
rider, raw bust inside a vagina
Like I want kids, my head continues to be
I burn a city down I'm unconscious, baby go on
some quaaludes, conversate with Jesus
Batting practice the motherfucking ghost of Babe Ruth
Do as a do, turn painful to graceful
on my trails, I'm trying to find the Holy Grail
Right
And if Mars is the that man has set his target
Then I don't know why I started
I'm sick of being too to people who don't do shit but consume light
Told myself, "Fuck the kid, just do what you like"
Go and a food fight, start yourself a new life
too bright to be inside a bunch of mediocrity
But all those big ain't gonna get you paid
And those abstract ideas for sure get you laid
You got it made in that mad
What the fuck you got to be sad
Go ahead a rap now, do 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 girl live in a duplex
I'm a put her ass in a Suplex, the sun east, the moon
You got a clue, what a clue get?

My milk & honey, my Amour
My in her carriage by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard the scarecrow
And the lion through the
To the wicked witch's fortress where she scorched in the foreplay
Remember He said he'd fight the box to see the wizard
When he was visited by Dorothy who here on a blizzard
Now the whole in color, still,
How Auntie Em was next of kin and not her
Real, her was care-worn
I suspected she migrated to up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. Gulch from the very of Year One
Mr. Candyman, the parables
The poetry's like the and songs of Ecclesiastes
Lightning should strike the stone and then Moses make a tablet
The Judge bang the wood up in parliament with the mallet
And yell "Hear, Hear," finally order to this rap shit
Finally sort of water to soil 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
of Fal, every rhyme's halal
Every line is kosher, la vida loca
Shout out to Tony Toca, we like we suppose to