Luyện nghe bài hát Unemployed Black Astronaut

It's the resurgence of the happy black
But now African are handicap placards
And we're alphabetized in the modernized
And my press are wallet-size
My low
Why you shape me
I'm malleable putty
In a salad bowl with dill
In simulated urban testing
thuggy
Accompanied by a sexy
out of a burlesque show
She'll the ring finger of the lead singer
And a fresh bowl
Of the bitch's with bee stingers
But fresh though
home of the black speed-reader
Perplexed our blurbs
To suggest that I'm
But the nest is low
means I'm commonplace
To the we travel the country in wooden spaceships
On the cursing at the booking agents
I wield and I pilfer the country with the underground's who's who
But I feel like I've been sodomized a billiard's pool cue

I am the first astronaut
To walk the moon
From my air
Pound my beliefs the desired shape
Then put sound asleep in a fireplace

the return of the unpopular dope rappers
Who retreat to in the sky
Climbing up rope
And will sell you a silver disc soaked in
you've been brainwashed
Out of ears leaks soap lather
Why you deify me
I'm Buckaroo
I know what to do
I'm the guy
I crews like Krush Groove on DVD
And I got my start doing songs CVE
But now you're
Villain who? Project what?
Persona non
No wristband for the stick man
a wad of hot lava
Drip crayon on your clipped
squander top dollar
Twists strands to enrich
But not a lot of offers
They give grands to bands
I lawns
For the ADD D&D players
And we got
So we a commonwealth
And you hear me through random sightings and sharing
And you me that songwriting's like childbearing
No not
self-indulgence
Elfin culprits watch egos melt in charcoal pits

Oh my
Sorry I my acceptance speech
In the of the private car
And I rewrote the Hollywood
Fluxed the motion picture
Made it so the black guy die by the opening scene

It's the decline of the cathartic
And the label's who couldn't market a
I've been outsold and my style's old and
I'll a lighter to the carpet fiber
I'm not a household name
I'm a tax
I signed a deal with no clause
My label's like Mrs. Santa during menopause
So I'm banging on padded
Because I'm trying to hits
But I keep pop flies
I eat out anymore
I out chicken pot pies
But I used to be on the list of the top
hip-hop guys