Luyện nghe bài hát Suplexes Inside of Complexes and Duplexes

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

Yeah, sire, slap the fuck out Jon Cryer
Rough rider, raw bust 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 with the motherfucking ghost of Babe Ruth
Do as a saint do, turn 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
I don't know why I even started
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 a food fight, start yourself a new life
You're too bright to be inside a of mediocrity
But all those big words ain't gonna get you
And those abstract ideas for sure get you laid
You got it in that mad house
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, matter motherfucker
You suit vest, you need to buy a new
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, what a clue get?

My milk & honey, my Amour
My Cinderella in her by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the
And the through the forest
To the wicked witch's fortress where she scorched in the foreplay
that? He said he'd fight the box to see the wizard
When he was visited by Dorothy who came on a blizzard
Now the world's in color, still,
How Em was next of kin and not her mother
Real, her face was
I suspected she migrated to up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. Gulch the very beginning of Year One
Mr. Candyman, the parabolic
The poetry's like the poems and songs of
Lightning strike the stone and then Moses should make a tablet
The Judge will bang the wood up in parliament with the
And yell "Hear, Hear," some order to this rap shit
Finally sort of water to soil these cracked lips
I keep my shit 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, every rhyme's
Every line is kosher, la vida loca
Shout out to Tony Toca, we like we suppose to