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

My, first album had no famous appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
Many years on this professional
Why would you who's better? The world is still mine
Tattoos real "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts that
To it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac were of the same struggle
You lames should huddle, team's shook
Y'all feel the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football
Throwin' from a barrel, shoulder pads apparel
But the Q.B. stand for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all all
And I'm the black hearse that came to y'all ass in
for the hood by the corner store
Many try, many die, 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 been Escobar
You know the kid got his chipped fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for
It's the of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? Y'all awaited the true
Puffin' that tropical, cups of that too
Papi chu', up, wake up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do through righteous steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my
Y'all all happy-go-lucky, bunch of sambos
Call me "God's Son", with my low
I don't die slow, put them rags up like Pablo
This is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas
Flip the beat back, now it's all
Hit the record sto', let me go, get my whole collection, yo

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

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