Luyện nghe bài hát Zealots

Another MC lose his tonight, Lord
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 close as if my name was Kennedy
Abstract raps simple 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 feel like Rockwell, watching me
I got no privacy on land or at sea
And for you biting zealots, your are cacophonic
Hypocrite, critic, but inside you wish you had the pop hit
It hurts don't it, a come to your turf
And take over the

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

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

And even after all my 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 life tonight,
I beg that you to Jesus Christ, why
Oh Lord, father don't let him bury me,

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 went
The should stop rapping - vanish like Menudo
Took it to the heart, but 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 everybody do the
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 assassination, then hit you like the Dutchman

I sound sets with my rap DBX
Then drop on my 456 Ampex
Bring to the shop of horror
As she cry, "mi amor," the dies in the opera
And to the younguns who gadgets
And kill six days a week, rest on the Sabbath
Violence necessary, unless you provoke me
Then get buried the great Mussolini
And for you biting zealots, rap styles are relics
No matter who you damage, still a false prophet