Luyện nghe bài hát Mortal Thought (I Must Roc The Mic)

You will conquer the champion
You never will conquer the
Calm down my

Adjust that treble right now the bass
Turn it up, frontin'
C'mon, it up
Alright, it out ninety-three lyrics, here we go

I never want a jheri up under my hat
The in my bed has got to be strictly black
I never want money if my are wack
So I must, rock, the mic

I play the reggae and I play only rap
I the African, the European, and Jap
Beneath I got to show you that I am all
So I must, rock, the mic

Are you tired of lyrical liars, fliers
Wannabe MC's but really good
Tripping over mic cords, getting you
A total fraud, this of thing I can't afford

So I up the mic and kill it ill it top bill it
The cough is a skillet, MC's get fried in it
You got beef chill it, blood I it
After seven long years of ripping the party and I'm widdit
You call my name I don't think suing ya
I come to the club that booyaka

Laughing while I'm doin' ya the is booin' ya
Gimme one month, record for record on I'll ruin ya
Some likkle awl pon bwoy wanna if rule de city
His style is pretty beats and rhymes are dibby dibby

Here comes the rootical ratical
I'll eat ya ya beat ya till ya stagger and ya teeth chatter
You'll be goin' convulsions as I flash data
Any rapper can be a decapitated rapper now what's the

full of more junk than a sausage
Let me show you what a real hip hop

My from the Bronx
My from the Bronx
My from the Bronx
My posse from the

I never want a jheri up under my hat
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly
I want money if my lyrics are wack
So I must, rock, the mic

I play only the and I play only rap
I the African, the European, and Jap
Beneath I got to you that I am all that
So I must, rock, the mic

Of course, yeah I'm the most recording artist in your life
Never have to repeat a rhyme twice, precise
In a lyrical drought like to your lips oh yes my lyrics will suffice
I'm nice, like beans and rice, I am

Who's the lyricist on the mic, you don't want to fuck with Kris is
Lyric for rhyme for rhyme style for style I break you like dishes
Either you come fully or the lyrics you simply makin' wishes
We got no time for black leaders and dreamers blowin' wishes

You see a fraud, I mean a like in fraudulation
I know what it is, the crown of rhyme supremacy tastin'
And yes, before the flavor your greedy tongue
You get up by KRS-One

Now, lyrics, somebody want lyrics, from the lyrical
Here's a little somethin for you all to remember
And remember this I am no pessimist, of an optimist
Activist revolutionist, yes the artist
And the smartest, Premier, spark

My posse the Bronx
My from the Bronx
My from the Bronx
My posse from the

I never want a jheri curl up my hat
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly
I want money if my lyrics are wack
So I must, rock, the mic

I play the reggae and I play only rap
I the African, the European, and Jap
I got to show you that I am all that
So I must, rock, the mic