Luyện nghe bài hát Wishin II

Yo, the voice of the announcer off
Salvador, a connoisseur, a hot
Rachmaninoff, livin' not by the law
And I'm a of that Rakim God Allah
Forensic files, 'em disemboweled, '87 style
They chance than reverend Al or Kevin Liles
friends are vile, still be peddlin' vials
Off of eleven mile, wishin' you would
You prolly better
The dark side of to who they in prominence
My crown's taller Suleiman of The Ottomans
than Solomon, mobilizing the following
They try and give me the Nobel for novelists
Peace to cats rock MAC knowledge knowledges
astrologists, illegal anesthesiologists, yo
El elefante, Fonte
a regimen ready to give 'em hell if PRhyme say

Yo, post stress, I wear it as a family crest
I murder at its best, that'll manifest causing cardiac arrest
Budapest to Marrakesh, my slang
My Clarence X, I'm life after death, the last Levine X
every other rapper know they better wear a vest
I'm in two hundred thousand for appearances
I a song about it, here it is, yo
The feature search a preacher teacher torch
Capture, rupture, rapture, reach her, the
He ya, speak the ether, sneak then creep ya
Say no to meet ya, can't nobody get with me
Strong suits from Italy, chill, humility I'm all about, ability, yo
I a nigga would bring the hostility though
You know how boys from Philly be
I'm like cyanide, creeping the ear ducts
And I got a foul mouth, tell 'em earmuffs
When I was at school, I was who to clear of
Smoking a in the bathroom, sipping Smirnoff
When it time for the pictures in the yearbook
I was up in class like an American
Years later, yo I'm an hero verse evil like
Deerhoof, if I let the woof
They don't me when I'm shopping up in Berdgdorf
They just know I'm flier than the motherfucking
Therefore say I'm a sartorial gear whore, yeah

Uh, Ascots on the suits
You artists bands on the radio like they made you you
I'm for artists on stage to throw tomatoes to
The way I act you think I'm from radio, like Trae Tha Truth
I don't care, nigga, I'm getting in
I gotta see [? ], I'm N
I'on, I'on, I'on give a fuck, any DJ
I'on, I'on give 'em as a triple dare, tie him to a swivel chair
I'on give 'em spins, ha ha, I'on give 'em greens and count
Ask around by D-Town niggas that'll leave you
With a full of dead fans and bloody merch
Smoking that's ille- that's the color perp
You wanna study first
Every verse lyrical but nutty
Every verb and word is like a speeding bullet
to chop your body in half while it's on the way to heaven
Like Kid Cudi shirt, shit be a hit but it's gotta be money first
I rap with a sickness card, Iraq pulling private, shh

Chris, I think I got the curse