Luyện nghe bài hát Slap Them Up

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

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

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

MC's get ate, get like a pretzel
And get dissed if ever try to step to
They can't take a MC with lips
Talk a shit but sink no motherfuckin' ships

Lyrics make bigger holes than tips
another rapper body get stiff
Just like in church, we the basket
As I preach over his

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

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

Chattin' foolishness, step along quick with that
me rippin' this for self, where else ya lookin'?
I got rhymes than all the Jamaicans in Brooklyn
So it or be seated, Gee I'm mad undefeated

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

ill mad styles is what I give 'em
Not a run of the mill 'em, I drill 'em, I got ridiculous
of my styles you can get with 'em
Still um, um, your crew come get some so I can kill 'em

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

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

Your outreach is a of what I teach
For styles you're a leech
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 looked hard
But you're really a bitch, you get it together
Call me, here's my
Check the list, you lack breath control, mental
Lyrical talent, imagination and

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

'Cause you're like you can't be reached
If your ain't Arrested Development, save your speech
to ill, I got mad skills to fill
Not a fake, I got more styles than got Tasty Cakes

be the best Gee, don't try to test me
You'll get jacked son, even if your is not Jesse
Let's be up front I meet ya
Peace, uh, I'm the motherfuckin'

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

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