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 time behind lines so

I got mine, I you (got yo'self a gun)
You the hood I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
You want I hope 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, ya (got yo'self a gun)

My, first had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm crowned the lyricist
Many years on professional level
Why would you question who's better? The is still mine
Tattoos with "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with like that
To it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the same
You lames should huddle, team's shook
Y'all feel the of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
passes from a barrel, shoulder pads apparel
But the Q.B. don't stand for no
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all all
And I'm the black that came to haul y'all ass in
It's for the hood by the corner
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 must've been
You the kid got his chipped tooth fixed
parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for life
It's the return of the Golden Child, son of a blue's
So who are you playa? awaited the true savior
Puffin' that tropical, cups of Vodka too
chu', tore up, wake up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, I do this through righteous steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in of my death
been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of sambos
Call me "God's Son", my pants low
I don't die slow, put them up like Petey Pablo
is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow
Flip the back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the record sto', let me go, get my whole collection, yo

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

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