Luyện nghe bài hát Suplexes Inside of Complexes and Duplexes

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

Yeah, young sire, the fuck out Jon Cryer
rider, raw bust inside a vagina
Like I want kids, my head to be haunted
I burn a 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 painful to
Devil on my trails, I'm trying to the Holy Grail
Right
And if Mars is the that man has set his target
Then I know why I even started
I'm sick of being too nice to who don't do shit but consume 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 words ain't get you paid
And those abstract for sure won't get you laid
You got it in that 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, matter motherfucker
You suit vest, you to buy a new dress
I heard you and your live in a duplex
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 Amour
My Cinderella in her by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard the scarecrow
And the lion the forest
To the wicked witch's where she scorched them in the foreplay
Remember that? He he'd fight the box to see the wizard
he was visited by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard
Now the whole in color, still,
How Em was next of kin and not her mother
Real, her face was
I suspected she to Kansas up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. Gulch from the beginning of Year One
Mr. Candyman, the parables
The like the poems and songs of Ecclesiastes
Lightning should strike the stone and then should make a tablet
The Judge will the wood up in parliament with the mallet
And yell "Hear, Hear," some order to this rap shit
Finally some sort of water to soil these lips
I my shit crispy and elegant,
So miss me with the irrelevant, the god body is
The hard-body is reverence, the son of Byford
Brother of Fal, rhyme's halal
Every line is kosher, livin' la loca
Shout out to Toca, we ballin' like we suppose to