Luyện nghe bài hát Suplexes Inside of Complexes and Duplexes

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

Yeah, young sire, slap the fuck out Jon
Rough rider, raw bust inside a
Like I want kids, my head continues to be
I burn a city while I'm unconscious, baby go on
Take some quaaludes, conversate with
Batting practice with the ghost of Babe Ruth
Do as a do, turn painful to graceful
Devil on my trails, I'm to find the Holy Grail
there
And if Mars is the farthest that man has set his
Then I know why I even started
I'm of being too nice to people who don't do shit but consume light
Told myself, "Fuck the world kid, just do you like"
Go and have a fight, start yourself a new life
You're too to be inside a bunch of mediocrity
But all those big words ain't get you paid
And those ideas for sure won't 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
what you do best, matter fact motherfucker
You vest, you need to buy a new dress
I heard you and your girl live in a
I'm a put her ass in a Suplex, the sun east, the moon
You got a clue, does a clue get?

My milk & honey, my Cherie-Cherie
My Cinderella in her by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the
And the lion through the
To the wicked witch's fortress where she scorched in the foreplay
Remember that? He said he'd the box to see the wizard
he was visited by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard
Now the whole in color, still,
How Auntie Em was 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 beginning of Year One
Mr. Candyman, the parables
The poetry's the poems and songs of Ecclesiastes
Lightning should strike the and then Moses should make a tablet
The Judge will bang the up in parliament with the mallet
And yell "Hear, Hear," some order to this rap shit
Finally some sort of water to soil cracked lips
I my shit crispy and elegant,
So miss me with the irrelevant, the god is heaven-sent
The hard-body is reverence, the son of Byford
Brother of Fal, rhyme's halal
Every is kosher, livin' la vida loca
Shout out to Tony Toca, we like we suppose to