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 me, whoa

I haunt MCs like Mephistopheles, swords of Damocles
Secret keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy
Abstract simple with a street format
Gaze into the sky and measure planets by
Check out the retrograde motion, the notion
Of biting and recycling and it your own creation
I feel like Rockwell, somebody's me
I got no privacy whether on or at sea
And for you biting zealots, your are cacophonic
Hypocrite, critic, but deep you wish you had the pop hit
It hurts it, a refugee come to your turf
And take over the

See my rhymes, are the type of fly
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 rhymes
Two MCs can't occupy the same space at the time
It's the laws of physics
So weep as your sweet dreams break up like
Rap rejects my tape deck, projectile
Whether Jew or gentile, I rank top
Many styles, powerful than gamma rays
My pays, like Carlos Santana plays "Black Magic Woman"
So while you fuming, I'm consuming mango juice Polaris
You just embarrassed cause it's your last in Paris

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

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

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

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