Luyện nghe bài hát Zealots

Another MC his life tonight, Lord
I beg that you to Jesus Christ, why
Oh Lord, father don't let him bury me,

I haunt MCs like Mephistopheles, bringing of Damocles
service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy
Abstract raps simple a street format
Gaze into the sky and measure planets by
out the retrograde motion, kill the notion
Of biting and recycling and calling it your own
I feel like Rockwell, somebody's me
I got no whether on land or at sea
And for you zealots, your raps are cacophonic
Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you you had the pop hit
It don't it, a refugee come to your turf
And take over the

See my rhymes, are the of fly rhymes
That can only get with my crew
And if you try, to lines or bite rhymes
We'll you how the refugees do

Yeah, behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes
Two MCs can't occupy the same space at the same
It's against the laws of
So as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics
Rap rejects my tape deck, projectile
Whether Jew or gentile, I rank top
styles, more powerful than gamma rays
My grammar pays, like Carlos Santana "Black Magic Woman"
So you fuming, I'm consuming mango juice under Polaris
You just embarrassed cause it's your tango in Paris

And even after all my and my theory
I add a "Motherfucker" so you ignant niggas me
Crew remember take notes, as I sow my rap
And for you biting zealots, a quote

Another MC his life tonight, Lord
I beg you pray to Jesus Christ, why
Oh Lord, father don't let him bury me,

You can try but you can't the tribe
These cats can't rap, mister author I feel no
The magazine says the girl should went solo
The guys should stop rapping - vanish Menudo
Took it to the heart, but every actor his part
As long as was listening, I knew it was a start
For me to get my chance, grab my pen and
Do a cameo everybody do the dance
Quick now, cause you out of luck-a
Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you
While you munching at your
I'll be planning your assassination, then hit you the Dutchman

I compress sets with my rap DBX
Then drop on my 456 Ampex
terror to the shop of horror
As she cry, "mi amor," the dies in the opera
And to the younguns who carry
And kill six days a week, then on the Sabbath
Violence ain't necessary, you provoke me
get buried like the great Mussolini
And for you biting zealots, your rap styles are
No matter who you damage, you're a false prophet