Luyện nghe bài hát What's Up Doc? (Can We Rock)

What's Up (Can We Rock)

Can we
Yeah, up doc?
Can we
up doc?

Cha cha cha cha cha
What's up pa, yo who
Your ma or pa dukes?
There's two a raisin in the sun
Brothers try to rally up, then dally for some room
Bird peckin', doulbe deckin', rubber in my tomb
Check it out yo, I like Groucho Marx
I make a joke, hokey pokey, and by like egg yolk
Play me like a punk like and the Joker
in my biz like Tom and Roxie Roker
So bust the freaky freaky freaky
The brothers with the Asian making G's
And now we're records overseas
Holy smokes, oops, your whole plan up
Now you get kicks, 'nough licks, plus up
'cause you can catch a quick drop for to take the Schnicks' props
So tick tock around the clock and shock we lick shots
(Boom!) for sakes the stakes are high
I'm out (you out?)
ABC-ya, bye

I I saw a putty cat, I did
I did the humpty dumpty grumpy quaker nabisco crisco kid
'cause my style's figaro figaro figaro like Pinochio's
Big Underground humpty dumpty camel hump nose
So dosey doe, sufferin' sucotash my mistletoe is gone
Snow is after my seven dwarves, my styles, and after me Lucky Charms
So leapin' leprechauns, be I'm pushin' my pedal to the metal
I'm rugged and rough for Cocoa Puffs, and yes, I love my Pebbles
So howdy, my partner, I starts to get
So ask Bob for hope, nope, not Mr. Bob
Oh were has my mic gone? Tell me, have you seen
I stretch like a condom and gets plump like a
Or a sasuage, but of course it's, time for to wreck it
But before my intro I to check it
So who is the in your neighborhood?
Lyrics are merry, merry, quite contrary, and Crunch berry good
So rah rah, sis bah
Chip Fu is coming again, thanks and praises to jah
My lyrics are like the head on Terry Savalas
My tounge starts to quicken like Gonzales
Take up your pen, your pad, lyrical bag and run go whole a fresh
Touche pussy cat, put that mic 'cause you can't rap
I'm dip-dip-divin', so socializin'
Clean out your ears, yes, and open up your and
I kick Bruce Lee and Jean Claude Van Damme
So dunna nana nana nana nana, Batman!
I hip-hop,
Don't-don't,
I'm than a Flinstone and much bigger than a Chub Rock
Our of lyrical styles? yes the Schnickens can pick 'em
I burp, 'em, ha ha ha, stick 'em

Rippin' the program, slow man, hot
I slam, swingin' things again and again (whoo)
Golly ha-chooey, like Roscoe
Randy Savage manwitch, swingin' the ding-a-ling with
Pauish not antoinish nor
Spanish like que for the nine two
Next, a new hex, stand aside
Stringin' emcees like a bikini or line (ha ha)
Nut you might bust, but you can't even come
Spite the strokin' or hopin' or pullin' a pipe
Huff and puff so what the fuck is
On the lyrical, miracle,
but rockin'
Flip a new hit, catch wreck to the ship
Equipped, never with tounge twister
All my styles buckwild
No rap, I push pounds
I flip mad and hips, I hit
So bring the oh boy-ah, as I say hasta manana
Soft and chewy Kong fooey, reggae not rasta tough stuff
Can I

I'm the hooper, the
by Viper
When I rock the yo, you'd better decipher
In other words you'd better make a funky (whoo)
'cause I'm a be a Shaq knife, and cut you with
Tony Danza, I'm the boss
When it comes to money, I'm like Butkas
Now who's the first me, word is born and
Not a Christean Laettner, not Mourning
That's okay, not bragadocious
Supercalifragelistic, Shaq is
Peace, I gotta go, I no joke
Now I it (what?) jam it (unh)
And sure it's broke