Luyện nghe bài hát Wack Mc`s

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

[Joe
and gentlemen
With no further {"wick-wick"}
your man, Joey! {"wick-wi-wi-wi-wick-wick-wack"}
{"wick-wick-wick-wack"}

I'm the perfect one to show ya, all that slick talkin could be
All it's take's a U-turn from the chauffeur
You me, you just see
We mix with guns, that's the hood's UFC
And me? I never had gear (nah) but since year
I not to cop nothin if it wasn't cashmere
You just salty, I'm fonder sodium
Anticipate the shots like at the podium
Me and y'all are nowhere near the same (nah)
Not in layman's terms,
Metaphorically, lyrically, not
Theoretically (I mean) we just genetically
And they named me the champion yet
So it's, ACG's, sweats
Homie this is a thought (for)
The Donny Wall DJ's that don't wanna play the best 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 back
what?

My nigga Jumpoff said it best - y'all niggaz married to the
I'm married to a bottle of Patrn wearin a dress
niggaz is dead unless you see we have not been playin
The Slaughterhouse ain't no goddamn
up to the bar where you hang
Shoot at bottle like, "Hohh, we pop champagne!"
No disrespect to ol' D's boy
I ain't Prince Akeem but I greet you with the sweepers or the (Semmi)'s
These lame rappers is broke
They so po' they gotta 'Loso to have a (Fabolous) quote
And to the fo'-fo' grabbin throat tellin 'em choke
Your arms all froze like they havin 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 Haha, that nigga's (blam)

[Joell
Uhh, Joell (Joell Ortiz) yup, it's really me
I used to drink the beer by Billy Dee
By the bodega in and a white tee
Steady cocoa pia papi for a iced tea
Married to the block, that's why I kept a wifey
Million fish in the sea, I juggled a couple
Had a for guns, I always kept a few near
Never shot but I fired 'em all on New Year's
lost a fight, I'm like 25-and-O, what!
Except that time in high but he jetted when I woke up
time I spit it's like somebody filled the whole cup
with and just downed it, they hear it wanna throw up
Many nights the fridge held me down with old cold
No mayo? No No bread? Ah, so what!
On the in the corner was my mattress, B
I hated that so I don't rap like you MC's

I]
Geah! H-dot, ha ha!

I laugh I kill you, I'm a poor sportsman
Slaughterhouse the successors to the Horsemen
Niggaz born to pimp so bring some whores in
with my other hand before more foreskin
Me and Red Spyda, in a red Spider
Westsider, homie's a tec writer
Homie I check riders, you better down
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 street corners
to clap actors, after that brrrap, backwards
Shit, that's the force roll through
I Malcolm X you pigs, what the gon' do?
I Malcolm X the track, mean arm-leg-leg-arm-head
the beat, the torso too, heh
And the chorus for you, NIGGA!

[Chorus - begins during line]