Luyện nghe bài hát Zealots

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

I haunt MCs Mephistopheles, bringing swords of Damocles
Secret service keep a close watch as if my was Kennedy
Abstract raps simple with a format
Gaze into the sky and measure planets by
Check out the retrograde motion, the notion
Of biting and recycling and calling it your own
I feel like Rockwell, somebody's 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 it, a refugee come to your turf
And take the earth

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

Yeah, yeah behold, as my odes, manifold on rhymes
Two MCs can't the same space at the same time
It's against the laws of
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 pays, like Carlos Santana plays "Black Magic Woman"
So while you fuming, I'm consuming juice under 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
remember take notes, as I sow my rap oats
And for you zealots, here's a quote

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

You can try but you divide the tribe
These cats can't rap, mister author I feel no
The magazine says the girl should went solo
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 everybody do the dance
now, cause you running out of luck-a
Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you
While you at your luncheon
I'll be planning your assassination, then hit you like the

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