Luyện nghe bài hát Remember Me

Remember me? ("There executions")
Remember me? ("I no remorse")
me? ("I'm high, power!")
Remember me? ("I drop like Hiroshima")

For this, why it's the X, you
'Cause I grab the mic and get down, like
Hide in Rome and to the masses, boundaries
Which me for the term "universal"
Without no rehearsal, colleague is controversial
I'm not, the one you want to contest, see
'Cause I'll hit your ass like the train did that
got "Banned From TV"
Heavyweight get up, watch whole head split up
Loco is the motion, comin' through
Hollow tips in the lead, the .45

Remember me? ("Throw ya in the air!")
me? ("Slam! Slam!")
Remember me? ("Nigga da fuck up!")
me? ("Chka-chka-Onyx!")

Niggas catchin' "no" for an answer, no
Yeah, I've been no but it's more like
"No, no, no!!"
Life's a bitch, yeah fuck you if you let her
Better better than better to be a competitor
ved is a head, the shit is all redder, you deader and deader
I better the cheddars and credda
Instead of vendetta, a mellow from ghetto to gutter
Evidence? Nope! leave a shredda
I got the soul of every in me, love me and hate me
My got raped by the industry and made me
I'm the illest ever, I told you
I get more pussy than them bitches total
beef, nigga? Psh better dead that shit
My should be "Can't-Believe-That-Nigga-Said-That-Shit"
Probably say "he ain't a killa", but I'm myself
Smoke def, fuck raw, on the kitchen floor
So what I'm a do to you, have done to you
Got in my hood who'd do that shit for a bullet too
What you want to do, We're glockbusters
'Til the cops us, gonna start ruckus and drop blockbusters
the clock hustlers, you cannot touch us
I'm gettin' wires wantin' me dead
Wantin' my head, you think it could be I said?

Remember me? ("I don't give a fuck!")
me? ("Yeah, fuck you too!")
Remember me? ("I'm low and I'm shifty!")
me? ("I'm shady!")

When I go out, I'm a go out
I don't mean I die, I mean when I go out to the club, stupid
I'm to clean up my fuckin' image,
So I the fuckin' critics
I wouldn't say "fuckin'" for six
(Six minutes, Slim Shady, on)
My mom, bitch made me an angry blond
So I made me a song, killed her and put on
I may be wrong, I keep these crazy thoughts
In my cranium, but I'm stuck a crazy mom
(Is she really on as dope as you say she's on?)
Came home, and somebody must've in the back window
And two loaded machine guns and both of my trench coats
Sick dreams of picnic scenes, two kids, sixteen
With M-16's with ten each
And them reach through six kids each
And Slim blamed in Bill Clintin's speech to fix these streets?
Fuck that! Psh you fagots can to volcanic ash
And re-appear in hell with a can of gas, and a
Aftermath, Dre, grab the gat, show 'em it's at
(Shot)
(What the fuck you at, nigga?)
you remember me?
me?
me?!
me?!