Luyện nghe bài hát Down for The Count

One, two, three,
Grimy bitch stomp the bogey outside front door (yeah)
Puffin on Goodie, eatin and rye
Blow the spot with some old school shit from high
One, two, three,
Jersey's in the house, punchlines and metaphors
Make foul ice grill, thug grimy on the real
heads to bed like Hennessey and NyQuil

Convertible style, had the heat knockin
Bumpin shit way back with my man beatboxin
Shootin the breeze - see I'm nice these
You'll be suckin it down like fast food
Type of rap bitch that underground classics
Gettin more green than nigga St. Patrick
Makin wack rappers go and the set {*dial-up sounds*}
Better off a desk tryin to surf the net
Cause I be adamant, kill 'em when my joints get in
Worse than boric in your project cabinet
Harriet, increase the fanbases
Leavin cats stuck on the plantations
Mini-skirts tights, eatin lunch with whites
Leave the party over like they Israelites
Got Cali Brooks critics, Ta' Kwe'(??)
Gonna shit down like he can't get no visits

One, two, three,
Rock the whole world like the Rolling Stone
Raw your wack set is faker a bomb threat
By a nervous terrorist so scared that his palms wet
One, two, three,
The legends are made of, urban folklore
Like Jim Morrison we break on
Before I care about take on me, we take on you

Yo, yo, yo
We bring it straight to face from the start, yo
Against the Machine, break it apart
Might be over your head, but straight from the heart
I show my in the light while why'all hate in the dark
Straight to apocalypse is I'm takin the art
Givin battle scars, ALWAYS makin my mark
You fakin the part of gangster, til niggaz in your spot
You bitch whether I say it or not
Shit is hot, spittin flames on the
Put our town's on the map
From now until we fadin to
Where we at? Thug rebels metal clubs ghetto
When the let go like Frankie Beverly
we stack notes like the treasury, flow heavenly
Get you high on speech laced with
Niggaz be gassed like Sounds, and need rescue remedy
Then the fuck off like limbs affected with leprosy

One, two, three,
Why the fuck can't MC no more?
Hardcore til put me under the ground
With a in your ear, still couldn't fuck with my sound
One, two, three,
Takin me straight to the weed spot, then to the sto'
"Gimme Mo'" like Busta Bus', who do you trust?
Swingin through, your favorite neighborhood

I'm I-rate, your body for live bait
Xzibit them heavy gems you can't take
Dilate, cock back the weight, hate
Heavy metal we settle and set shit
Hit gates in my younger days, from the
Me and my clan used to thicker than quicksand
Supply and the hand is quicker than the eye
Find chickens to fry, while you find it hard to stick to your lie
I see the tricks, destroy the facade
Your lungs is too weak to hotbox with God
Rah Digga, Lady of the Flipmode Squad
be hard like a young nigga walkin the yard
For the first time, we ain't the niggaz you let
Expect mines to lines like coke everytime
I'm an Alkaholik nigga so I finish the
You at the front bitchin because you ain't on the list

It's
One, two, three,