Luyện nghe bài hát The Hitman

Call me the hitman, kinda hard, ain't it?
most feared to become in the game, we became it
So I painted a masterpiece of an industry
not a lip of grass, so it's graphic, frame it
The hitman, say it again, the
The hitman, uh, say it again, say, say it

Some people say I'm extreme, broadcast a beam through a meme
as Jimmy Iovine, as corrupt as Don King
Boxed the ghetto, so be champ with the bling
the arena, the internet is the ring
You audible Queens, to sling music to fiends?
Def Jam, supreme team, the same thing
Except more critical now, it's digital
The to control every individual brain
Like, Cadillacs for contracts in the
Now it's rap 'til you sixty, for 360
The trick, switch the with the three sixes
Artists are with zero, you know who received the riches
Which is the reason why there's only a few
Globally, the pioneers are left in a
Enough to make the go postal
Watching these old folks get fucked for they

If you are not performing for radio rotation
What's the ratio for play at your station?
If your not to play, the record is dead
Puts a whole new on radio head/Radiohead
got a thousand plays a week and we selling the same units (uh)
Put best rep up, they couldn't stand next to it (woo)
People wanna relate, they connect to it
Here's a lyrical check, is this enough for you to flex to it,
Or do you need clues?
Should I be more black? that change your view?
Should I die my hair blonde? Should my be blue? (come on)
a couple of questions I mustered up for you (uh)
But eleven and half shoes, you can't fill those
I head lines/headlines like corduroy pillows
And probably get banned from and marketing
Targeting industry politics, provoking it

The hit (*gunshot*), man, it's hard
Let's release sex tapes, so we can become
photographs of titties and asses
Increase our buzz, the masses (uh)
I thought she was to be so passive
Now you just ass in the air with an asterisk
Cell phone songs, you will never be
You sold your soul, they that remastering
B, why does it have to be so
Chemical skin peel, makes the song more
Follow the man, stick to the clap-tics
Twelve to eighteen, you the demographics
These kids popcorn, they want slapstick
the chorus goes tisket, tasket
But I'm not to risk it and mask it (come on)
This might a couple of listens for you to grasp it
The hit (*gunshot, drops*)