Luyện nghe bài hát Zealots

Another MC lose his tonight, Lord
I beg you pray 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 name was
Abstract raps simple with a format
Gaze the sky and measure planets by parallax
out the retrograde motion, kill the notion
Of biting and recycling and calling it own creation
I feel Rockwell, somebody's watching me
I got no privacy whether on or at sea
And for you biting zealots, your are cacophonic
Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you you had the pop hit
It don't it, a refugee come to your turf
And over the earth

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

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

And even all my logic and my theory
I add a "Motherfucker" so you ignant niggas me
Crew remember take notes, as I sow my rap
And for you biting zealots, here's a

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

You can try but you can't divide the
These cats can't rap, mister author I no Vibe
The magazine says the girl should went solo
The should stop rapping - vanish like Menudo
Took it to the heart, but every plays his part
As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a
For me to get my chance, my pen and revamp
Do a while everybody do the dance
Quick now, cause you running out of
Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you
While you at your luncheon
I'll be planning your assassination, hit you like the Dutchman

I compress sound sets my rap DBX
drop vocals on my 456 Ampex
Bring terror to the shop of
As she cry, "mi amor," the dies in the opera
And to the younguns who carry
And kill six days a week, then rest on the
ain't necessary, unless you provoke me
Then get like the great Mussolini
And for you biting zealots, rap styles are relics
No matter who you damage, you're still a prophet