Luyện nghe bài hát The Hitman

Call me the hitman, it's hard, ain't it?
What most feared to become in the game, we 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, a beam live through a meme
Screaming as Jimmy Iovine, as as Don King
Boxed into the ghetto, so be champ the bling
the arena, the internet is the ring
You audible Queens, to sling music to fiends?
Then Def Jam, team, the same thing
Except more critical now, digital cocaine
The goal to control every individual
Like, Cadillacs for in the sixties
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 are left in a chokehold
Enough to make the go postal
these old folks get fucked for they vocals

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

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