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 kids, my head continues to be haunted
I a city down while I'm unconscious, baby go on
Take some quaaludes, conversate Jesus
Batting practice the motherfucking ghost of Babe Ruth
Do as a do, turn painful to graceful
Devil on my trails, I'm trying to find the Grail
Right
And if is the farthest that man has set his target
Then I don't why I even started
I'm of being too nice to people who don't do shit but consume light
Told myself, "Fuck the kid, just do what you like"
Go and have a food fight, start yourself a new
You're too bright to be a bunch of mediocrity
But all those big ain't gonna get you paid
And those ideas for sure won't get you laid
You got it made in mad house
What the fuck you got to be sad
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 milk & honey, my Amour
My in her carriage by the doorway
Her ruby slipper the wizard send the scarecrow
And the through the forest
To the wicked witch's fortress where she scorched them in the
Remember that? He said fight the box to see the wizard
When he was visited by Dorothy who came here on a
Now the whole in color, still,
How Em was next of kin and not her mother
Real, her was care-worn
I suspected she migrated to up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. Gulch from the very beginning of One
Mr. Candyman, the parables
The poetry's like the poems and of Ecclesiastes
Lightning should 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 this rap
Finally some sort of water to soil these cracked
I keep my crispy and elegant,
So me with the irrelevant, the god body is heaven-sent
The hard-body is reverence, since the son of
Brother of Fal, rhyme's halal
Every line is kosher, la vida loca
Shout out to Tony Toca, we ballin' we suppose to