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 bust inside a
I want kids, my head continues to be haunted
I burn a city down while I'm unconscious, go on
Take some quaaludes, with Jesus
Batting practice with the motherfucking ghost of Ruth
Do as a saint do, turn to graceful
Devil on my trails, I'm trying to the Holy Grail
Right
And if Mars is the farthest man has set his target
Then I don't know why I started
I'm sick of being too nice to people who don't do shit but light
Told myself, "Fuck the world kid, do what you like"
Go and have a food fight, yourself a new life
You're too bright to be inside a bunch of
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 that mad
the fuck you got to be sad about?
Go a rap now, do what you do best, I mean
what you do best, matter fact 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 west
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 where she scorched them in the foreplay
Remember He said he'd fight the box to see the wizard
When he was by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard
Now the world's in color, still,
How Auntie Em was next of kin and not her
Real, her face was
I suspected she migrated to up from Dearborn
And had with Mrs. Gulch from the very beginning of Year One
Mr. Candyman, the parables
The poetry's like the poems and songs of
Lightning should strike the 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
some sort of water 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, since the son of
of Fal, every rhyme's halal
Every line is kosher, livin' la vida
Shout out to Tony Toca, we ballin' we suppose to