Luyện nghe bài hát Wack Mc`s

[Intro: sample of Boogie Down "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 they all 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 show ya, all that slick talkin could be
All it's take's a U-turn from the chauffeur
You test me, you see
We mix hands 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 than sodium
the shots like Obama at the podium
Me and y'all are nowhere near the same (nah)
Not in terms, hypothetically
Metaphorically, lyrically, not
Theoretically (I mean) we just genetically
And ain't named me the champion yet
So it's, ACG's, Champion
this 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 back
what?

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

[Joell
Uhh, Joell Ortiz (Joell Ortiz) yup, really me
I used to the beer promoted by Billy Dee
By the bodega in chancletas and a 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 couple
Had a fetish for guns, I kept a few near
Never shot someone but I 'em all on New Year's
Never lost a fight, I'm 25-and-O, what!
Except that in high school but he jetted when I woke up
E'ry time I spit it's somebody filled the whole cup
with liquor and just downed it, hear it wanna throw up
Many nights the fridge held me down old cold cuts
No No mustard? No bread? Ah, so what!
On the floor in the 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 kill you, I'm a sportsman
Slaughterhouse the successors to the Horsemen
Niggaz born to pimp so bring some more in
Thinkin with my other hand more foreskin
Me and Red Spyda, in a red Spider
Westsider, homie's a tec writer
Homie I check riders, you better stand
Hands down, you'll be man on the damn ground
Long Beach, the home of strap clappers
From to backpackers, I smack rappers
Speak on us and we be bendin them street corners
to clap actors, after that brrrap, backwards
Shit, that's when the force through
I Malcolm X you pigs, what the gon' do?
I Malcolm X the track, that arm-leg-leg-arm-head
Body the beat, the too, heh
And leave the for you, NIGGA!

[Chorus - begins during line]