Luyện nghe bài hát Zealots

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

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

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

Yeah, yeah behold, as my odes, manifold on rhymes
Two MCs can't occupy the space at the same time
It's the laws of physics
So weep as your sweet dreams break up Eurythmics
Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects
Whether Jew or gentile, I top percentile
Many styles, more powerful gamma rays
My grammar pays, Carlos Santana plays "Black Magic Woman"
So while you fuming, I'm consuming mango juice 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 zealots, here's a quote

MC lose his life tonight, Lord
I beg you pray to Jesus Christ, why
Oh Lord, father let him bury me, whoa

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

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