Luyện nghe bài hát Wack Mc`s

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

Budden]
Ladies and
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 slick talkin could be over
All it's gon' take's a from the chauffeur
You me, you just see
We mix hands with guns, 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 like Obama at the podium
Me and are nowhere near the same pedigree (nah)
Not in layman's terms,
Metaphorically, lyrically, not
Theoretically (I mean) we just genetically
And they ain't me the champion yet
So it's, ACG's, Champion
Homie is just a thought (for)
The Wall 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 Spyda is BACK!
5'9", that's me, I'm back
what?

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

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

I]
Geah! H-dot, ha ha!

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

[Chorus - begins last line]