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 out Jon Cryer
Rough rider, raw inside a vagina
Like I want kids, my head continues to be
I burn a city down I'm unconscious, baby go on
Take quaaludes, conversate with Jesus
Batting practice with the motherfucking of Babe Ruth
Do as a do, turn painful to graceful
Devil on my trails, I'm trying to the Holy Grail
Right
And if Mars is the farthest that man has set his
Then I don't why I even started
I'm sick of being too to people who don't do shit but consume light
myself, "Fuck the world kid, just do what you like"
Go and have a fight, start yourself a new life
You're too bright to be inside a bunch of
But all big words ain't gonna get you paid
And those abstract ideas for sure get you laid
You got it made in that mad
What the you got to be sad about?
Go ahead a rap now, do what you do best, I
That's you do best, matter fact motherfucker
You suit vest, you need to buy a new
I you and your girl live in a duplex
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 Amour
My in her carriage by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the
And the lion through the
To the wicked witch's fortress she scorched them in the foreplay
Remember that? He said he'd the box to see the wizard
When he was visited by Dorothy who here on a blizzard
Now the world's in color, still,
How Em was next of kin and not her mother
Real, her was care-worn
I suspected she to Kansas up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. from the very beginning of Year 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 will bang the wood up in parliament with the mallet
And yell "Hear, Hear," finally some to this rap shit
Finally some sort of to soil these cracked lips
I keep my shit 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 line is kosher, livin' la loca
out to Tony Toca, we ballin' like we suppose to