Luyện nghe bài hát The Hitman

Call me the hitman, it's kinda hard, it?
most feared to become in the game, we became it
So I a masterpiece of an industry tainted
It's not a lip of grass, so it's graphic, 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 live a meme
Screaming as Iovine, as corrupt as Don King
Boxed the ghetto, so be champ with the bling
Industry's the arena, the internet is the
You audible Queens, to sling music to fiends?
Def Jam, supreme team, the same thing
Except more critical now, it's cocaine
The goal to every individual brain
Like, Cadillacs for contracts in the
Now rap 'til you sixty, for contract 360
The trick, switch the degrees the three sixes
Artists are with zero, you know who received the riches
Which is the reason why only a few moguls
Globally, the are left in a chokehold
Enough to the individual go postal
Watching these old folks get fucked for vocals

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

The hit (*gunshot*), man, kinda hard
release sex tapes, so we can become stars
Nude of titties and asses
our buzz, impress the masses (uh)
I she was supposed to be so passive
Now you just another ass in the air an asterisk
Cell songs, you will never be classic
You sold soul, they call that remastering
B, why it have to be so drastic?
skin peel, makes the song more plastic
Follow the man, stick to the clap-tics
to eighteen, you know the demographics
These kids popcorn, they want slapstick
Probably the chorus tisket, tasket
But I'm not to risk it and mask it (come on)
This might take a of listens for you to grasp it
The hit (*gunshot, drops*)