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 they all just

[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 ya, all that slick talkin could be over
All it's gon' take's a 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 last
I swore not to cop nothin if it cashmere
You salty, I'm fonder than sodium
Anticipate the 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 different
And they ain't named me the yet
So it's, ACG's, Champion
Homie is just a thought (for)
The Donny Wall DJ's that don't 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 married to a 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 disrespect to ol' D's boy
I ain't Prince but I will greet you with the sweepers or the (Semmi)'s
These other lame rappers is
They so po' they gotta 'Loso to have a (Fabolous) quote
And to the fo'-fo' grabbin throat tellin 'em choke
Your niggaz arms all froze 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
This my response to that nigga hidin out in
[crickets Haha, that nigga's (blam)

[Joell
Uhh, Joell Ortiz (Joell Ortiz) yup, it's me
I used to the beer promoted by Billy 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 kept a wifey
Million in the sea, I juggled a couple Pisces
Had a fetish for guns, I always kept a few
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 but he jetted when I woke up
E'ry I spit it's like somebody filled the whole cup
liquor and just downed it, they hear it wanna throw up
Many nights the fridge held me down with old cold
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 like you MC's

I]
Geah! H-dot, ha ha!

I laugh after I you, I'm a poor sportsman
Slaughterhouse the successors to the Four
Niggaz born to so bring some more whores in
Thinkin with my other hand more foreskin
Me and Red Spyda, in a red Spider
Executive Westsider, a tec writer
Homie I check riders, you stand down
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 brrrap, collapse backwards
Shit, when the force roll through
I X you pigs, what the pork gon' do?
I Malcolm X the track, that mean
Body the beat, the too, heh
And the chorus for you, NIGGA!

- begins during last line]