Luyện nghe bài hát Slap Them Up

Tellin' it like it is, right now D.J. Premier
Is in the motherfuckin' and shit
Ya know what I'm But yo, yo Kris, run that shit
Ya know what I'm sayin'? That, that shit, my
Run that motherfucker, only right kid

(Do it, do, do, do it)
that bass line, you want lyrics?
We give ya lyrics, check it out now, one
(Do it, do, do, do it)

When we come in all de 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy
Gal, will ya slap them up
When we come in all de dance D.J.'s shut up, woy
Ill will, slap up

MC's get ate, get like a pretzel
And get if they ever try to step to
They take a MC with loose lips
Talk a lotta shit but sink no ships

Lyrics make bigger holes than tips
Watch another rapper body get
like in church, we pass the basket
As I preach his casket

Fuck it, kick the body over
And say, "See ya, hmm, nice to ya"
Got another to see
Yo Kris, that ass certainly

If you're get off the pot
Let the rapper rock the spot
You stand and jock, goin'
This is absolutely ludicrous, what can you do to

foolishness, step along quick with that stupidness
It's me rippin' this for self, where ya lookin'?
I got more rhymes than all the in Brooklyn
So beat it or be seated, Gee I'm mad

Young boy, you see me, run along and make pee-pee
I was rhymes when 'La-Di-Da-Di' was a demo
Admit you on my tip for years and just can't seem to let go
Go, go call your mother, tell her you wanna KRS quick
I bet the minute you get home get your ass whipped

Crazy ill mad styles is what I 'em
Not a run of the mill 'em, I drill 'em, I got ridiculous
None of my styles you can get 'em
Still um, will um, your crew get some so I can kill 'em

Well, I roll by myself but let it fool ya
If I got my crew'll damn step to ya
We don't play no games, I'll come straight to rest
Lift up your shirt and you in your chest, well, that was fresh

A fad doesn't the bill, but mad skills will
Don't let me have to kill you kid, God forbid
Greed will lead your need to
But your speed, speech

outreach is a breach of what I teach
For lyrical styles you're a
If I was Spanish I'd say, "You lie a beech"
Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow

Wow, for a amateur you really looked
But you're really a bitch, when you get it
Call me, my card
the list, you lack breath control, mental behavior
Lyrical talent, imagination and

I got no time for amateur rhyme, you could be
Thinkin' you're hard because you wear a T-Shirt
I'll smash your wanna-be ass in the deep
Black, come up dizzy sayin', "How da fuck he do dat?"

'Cause you're yappin' like you be reached
If your name ain't Arrested Development, your speech
Time to ill, I got mad skills to
Not a fake, I got more than Drake's got Tasty Cakes

Gotta be the Gee, don't try to test me
You'll get jacked son, even if your name is not
Let's be up front when I ya
Peace, uh, I'm the teacher

When we in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy
Gal, ya come slap them up
we come in all de dance 'nuff D.J.'s shut up, woy
Gal, ya come slap them up

Do it, do, do, do it
Yo Bronx, South South Bronx
South Bronx, South yo, Uptown
in the house, lemme tell ya 'bout Staten Island
What about Do it, do, do, do it, do it, do, do, do it