Luyện nghe bài hát The Hitman

Call me the hitman, kinda hard, ain't it?
What most feared to in the game, we became it
So I a masterpiece of an industry tainted
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

people say I'm extreme, broadcast a beam live through 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 train audible Queens, to music to fiends?
Def Jam, supreme team, the same thing
Except more now, it's digital cocaine
The goal to control every individual
Like, Cadillacs for in the sixties
Now rap 'til you sixty, for contract 360
The trick, switch the degrees with the sixes
Artists are left with zero, you know who the riches
Which is the reason why there's a few moguls
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 fellatio for radio rotation
the ratio for radio play at your station?
If your not paying to play, the is dead
a whole new spin on radio head/Radiohead
They got a thousand plays a week and we selling the same (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 this enough for you to to it, huh?
Or do you need more
Should I be more black? Will that change your
Should I die my hair Should my eyes be blue? (come on)
Just a couple of questions I up for you (uh)
But these eleven and half shoes, you can't fill
I made head lines/headlines corduroy pillows
And get banned from television and marketing
Targeting industry politics, provoking it

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