Luyện nghe bài hát The Hitman

Call me the hitman, it's hard, ain't it?
What most feared to in the game, we became it
So I painted a masterpiece of an tainted
It's not a lip of grass, so graphic, frame it
The hitman, say it again, the
The hitman, uh, say it again, say, say it

Some people say I'm extreme, broadcast a live through a meme
Screaming as Jimmy Iovine, as corrupt as Don
into the ghetto, so be champ with the bling
Industry's the arena, the is the ring
You train audible Queens, to music to fiends?
Then Def Jam, supreme team, the thing
more critical now, it's digital cocaine
The to control every individual brain
Like, for contracts in the sixties
Now rap 'til you sixty, for contract 360
The trick, switch the with the three sixes
are left with zero, you know who received the riches
Which is the why there's only a few moguls
Globally, the pioneers are in a chokehold
to make the individual go postal
Watching these old folks get fucked for they

If you are not performing fellatio for radio
What's the ratio for radio at your station?
If your not paying to play, the is dead
Puts a whole new spin on radio
got a thousand plays a week and we selling the same units (uh)
Put they best rep up, couldn't stand next to it (woo)
People wanna relate, they connect to it
a lyrical check, is this enough for you to flex to it, huh?
Or do you need clues?
I be more black? Will that change your view?
Should I die my blonde? Should my eyes be blue? (come on)
Just a couple of questions I up for you (uh)
But these eleven and half shoes, you fill those
I made head lines/headlines like pillows
And probably get banned from and marketing
Targeting music politics, provoking it

The hit (*gunshot*), man, it's hard
release sex tapes, so we can become stars
Nude photographs of titties and
Increase our buzz, impress the (uh)
I thought she was supposed to be so
Now you another ass in the air with an asterisk
phone songs, you will never be classic
You sold your soul, they call remastering
B, why does it to be so drastic?
Chemical skin peel, makes the more plastic
Follow the man, stick to the clap-tics
Twelve to eighteen, you know the
These kids popcorn, they want slapstick
the chorus goes tisket, tasket
But I'm not to risk it and mask it (come on)
might take a couple of listens for you to grasp it
The hit (*gunshot, drops*)