Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

My mama me to Sam Goody's
I to buy a 50 Cent CD
I took that home
shit was wack like a muthafucka
Don't fuck Game

I like 50
He me Spongebob
And Tony Yayo is Blues
And Lloyd is Dora the Explorer
my friends

I went down one of them Bodaga right there in Harlem
Got me a bootleg Banks and Young Buck CD
Took shit home, put it in my boom box
Thought I was to be on some radio Raheim shit
Man that shit sound some Vanessa Williams '88
I mean Olivia cute but say that bitch a man
So Black Wallstreet for life now
GGG-UNOT!

300 and Runnin
Just loan me ears for 15 minutes
Walk me

Here the breakdown, pass the doja, .45 in the
tips'll fold 'em, them *****z they toy soldiers
Oh, that boy colder than unless he sober
I'm the president, but this ain't the takeover
Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a closer
Before you call a diss, and you make Hova pissed
Why would I do that? When I'm just the new cat
That was taught if a ***** shots to shoot back
Defending his yard, yeah his ground
I'm saying if you gonna retire, hand me the crown
Nah, let Bleek do it, throw him a concert in Madison square
Watch everybody through it
We can go bar for bar, I'll let the speak to 'em
What say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em
What you Them was the only *****z that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z with the leave you wrapped in Philly
Then dash in like Beanie Mac in Philly
?? said Curtis in Philly
Make a U-turn, I go back to Philly
I forgot my cheese stake, that's I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the dogs start for the glock
And I can't forget, B.I.G. got by the cops
Even I was Ready To Die, when I that he was shot
beef? Beef is when I murk you on the spot
Labels signing things, still searching for they Pac
I put on the block
So I don't feel threatened when Ludacris say he for the #1 spot
Ask 50, it get on top
You can hate me or me, but now the cops the only homies he got
When it's beef we eat, we win, but we lonely we pop
You records but a GGG-u not!
big on the radio, to me you not
You can ask Mr. CCC who hot
Tony I bet 10 G's you flop
Run up on new 300 C you got
Stop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding
And I hope you black out you see the cops
I ain't Top from Colors, I'm from Cedar Block
What i got in my high tops will make your stop
I'm a gangsta slash rapper, check your CD
I'm like in there, they can't believe he dropped
Now I'm moving on up to and Weezy's spot
I up where my homeboy Eazy stopped
I saw the west coast, put the shit on my
Sprayed Aftermath on it, then loosened the
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring hell to *****z Dre producing a track
Take it to the streets, put the duece to your hat
call up the pigs, tell them the rooster's back
Call Jadakiss, him that duke is back
I'm still by side, no matter who comes strapped
Fuck Lloyd Banks, it about who can rap
It's about when the clap, is rufus back
I see you thinkin, you want me to die, is that so?
Now you left leaning back, to Fat Joe
You got in heaven, you ready? Let's go
Drop them off, then pop wit Esko
I'm a say he hit me first, if me and Dre
All Nas back was he had a 3-4
Now that's the eulogy, is kinda foolish see
*****z running their mouth what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping I proceed to clapping
And you see the captain with plans of getting me captured
behind bars, I'm still gon' shine
I'm 10 years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm
Then I go right back, I pop mines
How you gon' Olivia, you only drop dimes
I knew you changed, when you started sleeping in that dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my *****z collect calls
1-800-split a faggot wig
He got G-Unit wings, throw them off the Bridge
Now career is over, career is over
We in QB, CNN in the rover
T-O-N-Y, that's the NORE
You ain't the talk of New York, your sixteens is
Take that shit off lingo, go to PC
And tell 50 Cent you want a copy of 3
I'm airing ass out on DVD
You wanna like Lloyd Banks repeat after me
I'm a toy soldier
On Sesame doing voice overs
ass ***** need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound like Oscar the Grouch, with them rhymes
We was in the studio, I first got signed
He got stuck, he 50 tryna borrow some lines
That's the wrong *****, when you need with your rhymes
All he tell you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad 'cause I ain't make your beef mine
You got lucky Ja, why you aint go at Shyne?
He freestyled from the pen, that's just the
Said he'd put you with your mom, and you fucked with that
you lied about your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Like Father, Like Son, go ask Busta
I knew the beginning not to trust those cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I bring Justo back
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason *****z saying my name Mike Jones
I
The underground is mine, I treat it home
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
And I'm far from Houston but you can it and screw it
Do to it, but it in the store the shit moving
'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do it
Came with two hundred, this is more than music
Even Dre knew it, boy hot like summer
Both feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and
And I with any *****, say my name muthafuck I'm gunnin'
You can put it on skee if you it
air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them sell out like a Air Jordon shoe
I told Funk Flex when I the ***** Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he how to DJ with bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the sidekick what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's to use his
Bloods gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain
380 spill brains, when I pop shots
Outside NY, in front of hip-hop
Or broad day in L.A., tell Em and Dre
This ***** bootlegging my music, ain't for him to say
Took me off my own songs, put it on his tapes
So take him out his house, put the beam on his face
him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakes
'cause when you with Jayceon, you can believe in L.A.
For caking off *****z on them CD's and
Ask to scratch a record, you will see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cake
the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant replay
Not the instant
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every 50 on stage singing like
Bitches only your shit just a lil bit
only feel your shit just a lil bit
On my album 50 me just a lil bit
Only on two songs, now back to some shit
My clips bananas, I a gorilla quick
on your chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell to make him a suit
Tell Reebock to make him boots
Get him a head band, to the holes in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy waters like
Banks blacked out and let the gun blam without a Man
So the gotta ask for his strings
Take my advice, never air max for the pen
Unless you one of the Bloods, or a king
'cause if your left with the Aryans your ass sting
And your mate is a 25 to lifer
They'll stab you at Folsom fuck you on Rikers
And Goes On
Now back to the coward of the hour who lied and he write my songs
He told Dre was gonna leave me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you kept them for yourself
stop acting tough before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The
Make a move I'm your ass to the last one
Ten shots from the Mack the rest in the passenger
Fase thats enough, let the coroner bag him up
in Makaveli and lift the doors on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase think I'm locin' up
Reverse the '05 hurse on and traffic, what
cops on my left, but I pass 'em up
The Dodge got a hemmy in it, got a Remy in 'em
In and out of like a New York cab
I'm Mr. Ol' King, New York cab
Who's this *****, on pictures with the Jake *****?
Got his crew starving 'cause he aint the cake, *****
He ain't Nas, ain't B.I.G., Jigga
If he ain't Cube or Pac then who you
We getting tired of you talkin about who you
I'll use another six bars to you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he went out a gangsta
You went out Vivica, three months after wanksta
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we you was hot
Now the ***** wanna take us to the Candy Shop
C'mon man, happened to the thug?
Now you could in the club, him and Lloyd Banks hugging
got mad when The Game start buzzing
So fuck friends now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia talking about we a family, had to go
***** I'll smack that ho I'm Jackie-O
'cause I wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't shake hands, or wear your G-Unit shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, don't be in your group
wanna sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can head to the block
Fresh white airs and the matching socks fitted

the brim low, if they don't get it
Bentley Coup on gold daytons, I was the one with it
times platinum, I done been there and did it
Came in the game and shitted, wiped my ass with it
They say the givth, if Lord take it away
So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll for the day
*****z hating on me, they don't want Jayceon to
And the DA on Jayceon to make a mistake
So they can put me in the squad car and me away
me a odd job in the pen for minimum pay
Let me out so I can down criminal way
Pushing the rock, nah this ain't no Jay
The summer too hot, and I the winter to stay
I'm a cold ***** when I put the pen to the page
Similar to them shells into my gauge
I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them granades
And Just Blaze, the boy got game
I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain
Now back to reality, my gun and my
And if diamonds are forever, then I'm Kanye
Take a look at my chest, a hundred at jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred thou break 'em
And the flow is hot that wit Satan
And the only I got spinning is Daytons
The I get the more willing to snake 'em
So soon as the beat drop, watch I take 'em
Compton meet, to get me some All-Stars
When Game in the house, they all cars
'cause heard about what went on in D.C.
about Hot 97, my beef with 50

Now me do he got a conscience?
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be in this nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at conference
I'd rather be pushing rock, like Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, like we bonding
We friends, I'm just acting like Charles Bronson
Middle in the air, one hand on my Johnson
Hip-Hop police on me I'm the convict
What to the old school? I thought it was rhyming
Doug E. Fresh and Daina on the corner like Common
Now that ain't common, more like Top Ramen
The flow is noodles, I throw it up vomit
And I shine like diamonds
They kicked me out of and I rebounded like Rodman
It's still Aftermath, two in the paint shit.
I be mad, I ain't, I'm supposed to I can't because
I'm in the hood politican, Impala
And I keep a black .45 on the of my prada denim
on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prison
Dollar vision, blow a thou like my wallet missing
Then re-up like kid the d-cup
getting money with my feet up
Chasing the throne, my black Air Force
I said Benzino and got the cover of The Source
Feel me? If not then I guess you kill me
But you ain't gon' do so muthafucka move back
While I do B.I.G. and 'Pac on two tracks
When I wake the dead, everybody hats
We ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap, why I gotta strapped?
On murder T-I-P, kill you ASAP
They know which hole to patch up, when the K clap
I tried to you Young Buck, now it's time for payback
It go, how you from Cashville but you ain't got no nigga?
Say my now that's your fucking ass nigga
Kept your mouth and I gave you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you like the last nigga
Buck, buck, from my AK-47
This nigga playing with his life, I have to put him in heaven
play the game, talking shit up on the stereo
Prepare for burial, when I'm reincarnating Harry-O
And you want that David 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe, when war he pull out butter knifes
Muthafucka show you who the gangsta
All you do is Murder Inc., now who the
Suge had you, you were stranded on Tha Row
Juve left you for dead and back to the NO
50 heard you on the bus and felt your little flow
Then he made you replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and that's hard to
And you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit chain in
I call my nigga Jojo to get it
He had the in his hands, and you ain't had the ten stacks
Picture that, I thought we was
Then you ran and 50 that I did that shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy ain't hard to
I told Monica when I catch him The Boy is
Take one of Brandy and pop
Watch his panties drop, when I run the Candy Shop
Fuck you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the
And Olivia, I for a man she hot
Now I'm running out of breath, like I just boxed
Got 20 bars to go, lay it down sheet rock
Don't worry about the flow, the boy he hot
Hurricanes in store November, nigga Reebocks
I'm fly a Hummingbird on a tree top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I need three
280 in, ain't no me back
I'm yelling the world, on my victory lap
Remember first it was Buddens, it was Bleek
Now it's muthafucka, yeah, who want beef?
Now whenever muthafucka, who see me?
In the coffin, exhausted, resting in peace
You want war nigga, you want peace
So give 'em the peace, (sp?)
Let 'em in peace
west to east the flow is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm with Satan
And I 'em the ace, you cannot replace 'em
If ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A king in the making, and the is for the taking
So I climb the mountain top and put my in
Got the weight of the on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat bitch can stop me from it over
This is crack music, go get the soda
300 Bars and Runnin, nigga the is over
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone