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

My, first had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
Many years on this level
Why you question who's better? The world is still mine
Tattoos real with "God's Son" across the
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" thoughts like that
To take it back to Africa, I did it Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the same
You lames should huddle, your team's
Y'all the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder apparel
But the Q.B. don't for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all all
And I'm the black hearse came to haul y'all ass in
It's for the hood by the 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 must've been
You know the kid got his chipped fixed
Hair parted with a preciseness, Bravehearted for life
It's the of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? awaited the true savior
Puffin' that tropical, of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this through 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", my pants low
I don't die slow, put them rags up Petey Pablo
is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow
Flip the beat back, now all reppin'
Hit the sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo

It's, the, of the Prince, the boss
This is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit's
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I
Stick shift, look sick up in that Boxter
the top cut off, rich 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 still in the
Does he really know how ill he is?
Got all of watchin' my moves, my watch and my jewels
Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews that
It's not my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my tennis shoes, I iced
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
Keepin' it wit' ya, uh

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