Luyện nghe bài hát The Hitman

Call me the hitman, it's kinda hard, it?
What 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 through a
Screaming as Jimmy Iovine, as as Don King
Boxed the ghetto, so be champ with the bling
the arena, the internet is the ring
You train audible Queens, to music to fiends?
Then Def Jam, supreme team, the same
Except critical now, it's digital cocaine
The goal to control every brain
Like, Cadillacs for contracts in the
Now it's rap you sixty, for contract 360
The trick, switch the degrees the three sixes
Artists are left with zero, you who received the riches
Which is the reason why only a few moguls
Globally, the pioneers are in a chokehold
Enough to make the go postal
Watching these old folks get fucked for vocals

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

The hit (*gunshot*), man, kinda hard
Let's release sex tapes, so we can become
photographs of titties and asses
Increase our buzz, impress the (uh)
I she was supposed to be so passive
Now you just another ass in the air an asterisk
Cell phone songs, you never be classic
You sold your soul, they 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
These want popcorn, they want slapstick
the chorus goes tisket, tasket
But I'm not willing to it and mask it (come on)
This might take a of listens for you to grasp it
The hit (*gunshot, drops*)