Luyện nghe bài hát Got Ur Self A...

Woke up mornin', (yeah)
You got a gun (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Got a gun

Yo, I'm livin' in this behind enemy lines so

I got mine, I hope you (got a gun)
You from the hood I you (got yo'self a gun)
You want beef? I ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take what I
So, you tried to front, ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got a gun)

My, album had no famous guest appearances
The I'm crowned the best lyricist
Many years on this professional
Why would you question better? The world is still mine
real with "God's Son" across the belly
The of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts like that
To take it to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the same
You lames should huddle, your shook
Y'all feel the of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads
But the Q.B. don't for no quarterback
Every word is like a blast, 'cause y'all all soft
And I'm the black hearse came to haul y'all ass in
for the hood by the corner store
Many try, die, come at Nas if you want a war, get it bloody, uh

Yo, I'm the N the A to the
And If I wasn't, I must've Escobar
You know the kid got his tooth fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for
It's the return of the Golden Child, son of a player
So who are you Y'all awaited the true savior
that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, I do this through righteous steps
You thought I was gone, so in light of my death
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of
Call me "God's Son", with my low
I die slow, put them rags up like Petey Pablo
This is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with Nas flow
the beat back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my collection, yo

It's, the, of the Prince, the boss
This is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I
shift, look sick up in that Boxter Porsche
With the top cut off, kids go and cop The Source
They don't about the blocks I'm on
And everybody to know where the kid go? Where he rest at?
Where he shop at and at?
Know he got dough, where does he live? Is he in the bridge?
Does he know how ill that he is?
Got all of y'all watchin' my moves, my watch and my
Hop in my coupe, dodge like that
not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my tennis shoes, I that
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
it gangsta wit' ya, uh

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