Luyện nghe bài hát The Hitman

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

Some say I'm extreme, broadcast a beam live through a meme
Screaming as Iovine, as corrupt as Don King
Boxed into the ghetto, so be with the bling
the arena, the internet is the ring
You train audible Queens, to music to fiends?
Then Def Jam, team, the same thing
Except critical now, it's digital cocaine
The to control every individual brain
Like, for contracts in the sixties
Now rap 'til you sixty, for contract 360
The trick, switch the degrees with the three
are left 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 they

If you are not performing for radio rotation
What's the ratio for radio at your station?
If your not paying to play, the record is
Puts a whole new on radio head/Radiohead
got a thousand plays a week and we selling the same units (uh)
Put they best rep up, they couldn't stand 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?
I be more black? Will that change your view?
Should I die my blonde? Should my eyes be blue? (come on)
Just a couple of I mustered up for you (uh)
But these eleven and shoes, you can't fill those
I made head like corduroy pillows
And probably get banned television and marketing
Targeting music industry politics, it

The hit (*gunshot*), man, kinda hard
Let's sex tapes, so we can become stars
Nude photographs of titties and
Increase our buzz, the masses (uh)
I thought she was supposed to be so
Now you just another ass in the air with an
Cell phone songs, you will never be
You sold your soul, call that remastering
B, why it have to be so drastic?
Chemical peel, makes the song more plastic
Follow the program man, to the clap-tics
Twelve to eighteen, you the demographics
These want popcorn, they want slapstick
Probably the chorus tisket, tasket
But I'm not willing to it and mask it (come on)
This might take a couple of for you to grasp it
The hit (*gunshot, drops*)