Luyện nghe bài hát Wack Mc`s

[Intro: sample of Down Productions' "My Philosophy"]
Rap is like a set-up, a lot of
A lot of with colorful names
I'm so-and-so, I'm this, I'm
Huh, but all just wick-wick-wack

Budden]
Ladies and
With no further {"wick-wick"}
It's man, Joey! {"wick-wi-wi-wi-wick-wick-wack"}
{"wick-wick-wick-wack"}

I'm the perfect one to ya, all that slick talkin could be over
All it's gon' take's a from the chauffeur
You test me, you see
We mix hands with guns, the hood's UFC
And me? I never had gear (nah) but last year
I not to cop nothin if it wasn't cashmere
You just salty, I'm fonder sodium
the shots like Obama at the podium
Me and y'all are near the same pedigree (nah)
Not in terms, hypothetically
Metaphorically, lyrically, not
(I mean) we just different genetically
And they ain't me the champion yet
So it's, ACG's, sweats
Homie is just a thought (for)
The Donny DJ's that don't wanna play the best nigga in New York, dawg

"Wick-wick-wack"
"Wick, wick-wi-wick-wi-wick-wick-wack"
"Wick-wick-wick-wack"
"Wick-wick-wack"
"Wick, wick-wi-wick-wi-wick-wick-wack"
"Wick-wick-wick-wack"

Da 5'9"]
OHH! My nigga is BACK!
5'9", that's me, I'm baby
what?

My nigga Jumpoff said it - y'all niggaz married to the streets
I'm to a bottle of Patrn wearin a weddin dress
Y'all niggaz is dead unless you see we have not playin
The Slaughterhouse ain't no gang
Show up to the bar you hang
at your bottle like, "Hohh, we pop champagne!"
No to ol' D's boy Jimmy
I ain't Prince Akeem but I will greet you the sweepers or the (Semmi)'s
These other lame is broke
so po' they gotta name 'Loso to have a (Fabolous) quote
And to the fo'-fo' grabbin they throat tellin 'em
Your niggaz arms all froze like they a stroke
it y'all, Nickel bonkers, kick and stomp ya
Put a nigga sleepin in a shlomper, I am not the one
This my to that nigga hidin out in Yonkers
[crickets chirping] Haha, that (blam)

[Joell
Uhh, Joell (Joell Ortiz) yup, it's really me
I used to drink the beer promoted by Dee
By the bodega in chancletas and a tee
cocoa pia callin papi for a iced tea
Married to the block, that's why I never kept a
Million fish in the sea, I juggled a couple
Had a fetish for guns, I always kept a few
Never shot but I fired 'em all on New Year's
Never lost a fight, I'm 25-and-O, what!
Except that time in high school but he when I woke up
E'ry time I spit it's somebody filled the whole cup
with liquor and just downed it, they it wanna throw up
Many nights the fridge me down with old cold cuts
No No mustard? No bread? Ah, so what!
On the in the corner was my mattress, B
I hated that so I rap like you wack MC's

I]
Geah! H-dot, ha ha!

I laugh after I you, I'm a poor sportsman
Slaughterhouse the to the Four Horsemen
born to pimp so bring some more whores in
Thinkin my other hand before more foreskin
Me and Red Spyda, in a red Spider
Executive Westsider, a tec writer
Homie I check riders, you better stand
Hands down, be man down on the damn ground
Long Beach, the home of them clappers
ringtoners to backpackers, I smack rappers
Speak on us and we gon' be bendin them corners
to actors, after that brrrap, collapse backwards
Shit, that's when the roll through
I Malcolm X you pigs, what the pork do?
I Malcolm X the track, that mean
the beat, the torso too, heh
And the chorus for you, NIGGA!

[Chorus - begins during last