Luyện nghe bài hát Zealots

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

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

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

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

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

MC lose his life tonight, Lord
I beg that you pray to Christ, why
Oh Lord, don't let him bury me, whoa

You can try but you divide the tribe
These cats can't rap, mister author I no Vibe
The magazine says the girl should have went
The guys should stop rapping - vanish Menudo
Took it to the heart, but actor plays his part
As long as someone was listening, I 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
you munching at your luncheon
I'll be planning assassination, then hit you like the Dutchman

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