Luyện nghe bài hát What Now

I get by
the sky, time to fly 'til we die

For what it's I see the purpose of life
I see below the surface and the version you know
And is not right, man, I oughta just laugh
The only darkness of me's the shadow I cast in my path
(What's that?)
That's the of my craft
I breathe and let my chest slowly contract
And write rhymes to baby not to uplift
If you wanna make it all, you persist
(Yo, put me on)

Yeah, all that a waste
'Cuz I can read a man's thoughts by the way the cross his face
five, everything live
And I vibe, ain't thought this day would arrive
But I balance my with a hope and a drive
And ride beats dog, where my focus derive
And keep notepads and vocab, that's my
And if I got legit beef, I don't let it slide, now

I get by
Touch the sky, to fly 'til we die

My brain is impossible to philosophical
Hustle in my blood, the only thing that's logical
The only I gotta do to stay on or stay strong
I stoppin' 'til I own the field that y'all play on
Desperado, eyes a bird of prey
Cold soldier, crack snap your
No heater, sweeter than Cohiba
Cinnamon dip, spice ride in the whip

Quite wide on the Benjamin
Might slide but we ain't slip, no way
If the meek shall inherit the earth, guess
get the globe if they measure in lyrical worth
Trademarc flow first, make the work
Fuck a verse, I your dental work
And it pop off, we not soft
We the Bentleys, y'all just the Chrysler knockoffs

I get by
Touch the sky, time to fly we die

But life, yeah, you hearin' me right
It's like I had to find the black of
Come back to life with master that shine bright
I'm learnin'
My burden, to blow up gifts this, I must endure the slow burnin'
It's sort of strange, my changed
I chances, jump before the water's in range
And never wait for answers so if all that remains
Is lookin' back at my life it never like I wasted glances

Man, it's all a big game, why it doesn't mean a thing
That I get and fame, it's all the same
If you call me Trademarc or if you my real name
Marc ain't attached to ego
He's a hero for the people, a blessing
Who transcends the of a poet with a street flow
It's not lip service, I don't to hear myself talk
And I don't wanna be a teacher; I'm grateful for all been taught

I get by
Touch the sky, to fly 'til we die