Luyện nghe bài hát Make'em Feel It

This is jam from F-o-x-x-x
Extra-special from the master, so jet
Speakers are pumpin, so hard to survive
But you need more than the cops just to lives
your seatbelt, put on your crashing gear
Prepare for the single, Foxxx is here
fit like a mack man, comes equipped
With a guard and a style that won't
I step smooth, I never break
Keepin my man Kut Terror on the side
You got up to get down and got
Tryin to get with some old bullshit Saran (W)rap
I put the pressure on, a nerve
And now you're outside, a bum on the curb
to be the mack daddy of the microphone
But you get nothin now cause (Freddie's home)
I don't care if you're and your pride
Won't you to play the side
Cause you're just a mortal, nothin extraordinary
Beats are and your rhymes are ordinary
I'm hearin on their third LP's
Soundin like a bunch of schoolyard
Man, I wish I'd catch a tryin to play my style
Tellin people we're cool with a grin and a smile
I mush his face, him a smack
Then I slam him on his head and cut 'Foxxx' in his
When I him all the real bad things that I heard
I'ma squash him like a dead
And em feel it

( *DJ Kut Terrorist up* )
(Can you it)

I make a rapper feel the pain, rap's my
To kick a rhyme ain't nothin, the key's to get
Before I made records you me to the left
But now you my jam and you run it to death
Mellow rapper was smooth, the name
I used to wax chump like it was a game
The rhymes that I've and lyrically created
I and amounted everyone I ever stated
second fiddle to rappers, I hate it
But I it and made it to the top
Now I'm a lot of people's idol, it go to my head
Suckers be me, they rather be dead
Lotta people do I do, say what I said
But then you always hear that people wanna be like
I'm super nice with and I'm much sweeter
Than any Tom, Dick, Bob, or Peter
Cause I'm a general generatin rhymes at a watts
handin out knots
I'm a rappin with class, I whip up pantsless ass
Take his and sit back and laugh
And make him it

( *DJ Kut Terrorist up* )
(Can you it)

Now I'm a one-man choir, rap higher
Ex-friends their minds, saw me on the flyer
And was their eyes like neighborhood baseheads
Tryin to convince themselves, "That Fred"
But my sound you get down, you recognize my style
to smile and gave me a pound
When I broke it down ain't nobody give me mines
I through like a champ kickin behinds
Male and female, rappers as
Know they can't front cause their rhyme'll tell
Lotta fall off but keep on tryin
But never survive cause they're slowly dyin
Everybody has a and gases em up
Gets their braincells but that ain't enough
when it's rough and the pressure's too much to bear
That's when you - the posse ain't there
Then you're all with your microphone
Freddie Foxxx is in the scopin your home
Take your moms and your pops and your kids as
And they my brand new listeners
Freeze, sucker, thought I'd ya
The triple x got to on ya
Now layin on the sidewalk, I dare you to talk
If you can the right rhyme you can get up and walk
But if you don't, be a pitiful sight
take your heart and take your mic
And you feel it

( *DJ Kut Terrorist up* )
(Can you it)

I you feel it

Kut
(Can you it)

(Can you it)
em feel it
(Can you it)