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 MCs like Mephistopheles, bringing swords of Damocles
Secret keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy
Abstract raps simple a street format
Gaze into the sky and planets by parallax
Check out the retrograde motion, kill the
Of biting and recycling and calling it your own
I feel Rockwell, somebody's watching me
I got no privacy 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 hurts don't it, a refugee come to turf
And over the earth

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

Yeah, yeah behold, as my odes, on your rhymes
Two MCs occupy the same space at the same time
It's the laws of physics
So as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics
Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects
Whether Jew or gentile, I rank top
Many styles, more than gamma rays
My grammar pays, like Carlos plays "Black Magic Woman"
So while you fuming, I'm consuming juice under Polaris
You just embarrassed it's your last tango in Paris

And even all my logic and my theory
I add a "Motherfucker" so you niggas hear me
Crew take notes, as I sow my rap oats
And for you zealots, here's a quote

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

You can try but you can't divide the
cats can't rap, mister author I feel no Vibe
The magazine says the should have went solo
The guys stop rapping - vanish like 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, my pen and revamp
Do a cameo while 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 your assassination, hit you like the Dutchman

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