Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

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

I like 50
He reminds me
And Tony is Blues Clues
And Lloyd Banks is Dora the
my friends

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

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

Here the breakdown, the doja, .45 in the holster
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them *****z toy soldiers
Oh, that boy colder Hova unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but this ain't the
Now, there's the speaker, bring ears a little closer
Before you call a diss, and you make Hova pissed
Why I wanna do that? When I'm just the new cat
was taught if a ***** take shots to shoot back
Defending his yard, yeah his ground
I'm saying if you retire, then hand me the crown
Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a in Madison square
Watch everybody through it
We can go bar for bar, let the lines speak to 'em
What say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do it
say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em silly
What you thought? Them was the only *****z that in Philly?
See *****z with the soonies leave you wrapped in Philly
Then in groups like Beanie Mac in Philly
?? said Jack in Philly
Make a U-turn, I go back to Philly
I my cheese stake, that's what I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the dogs start for the glock
And I forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the cops
Even I was Ready To Die, I heard that he was shot
What's beef? Beef is when I you on the spot
Labels many things, still searching for they Pac
I put on the block
So I don't feel threatened when say he coming for the #1 spot
Ask 50, it get on top
You can hate me or love me, but now the cops the homies he got
When beef we eat, we win, but we ain't lonely we pop
You sell records but a not!
big on the radio, to me you not
You can ask Mr. CCC who hot
Tony Yayo I bet 10 G's you
Run up on new 300 C you got
Stop hoping I fall, the bleeding stop
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, your CD shop
I'm like Elvis in there, they believe he dropped
Now I'm on up to George and Weezy's spot
I picked up where my homeboy Eazy
I saw the west coast, put the on my back
Sprayed on it, then loosened the strap
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring to *****z when Dre producing a track
Take it to the streets, put the duece to your hat
Then call up the pigs, them the rooster's back
Call Jadakiss, tell him that is back
I'm by your side, no matter who comes strapped
Fuck Banks, it ain't about who can rap
It's about when the ruger clap, is rufus
I see what you thinkin, you want me to die, is so?
Now you left leaning back, to Fat Joe
You got reservations in heaven, you ready? go
Drop them off, then pop wit Esko
I'm a say he hit me first, if me and Dre
All Nas said was he had a 3-4
Now the eulogy, beef is kinda foolish see
*****z running mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping before I proceed to
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
How you gon' Olivia, you only drop dimes
I knew you changed, when you started in that vest dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my make collect calls
1-800-split a faggot wig
He got G-Unit wings, them off the Queens Bridge
Now your is over, career is over
We in QB, CNN in the rover
T-O-N-Y, that's the phony
You ain't the talk of New York, your is boring
Take that shit off lingo, go to PC
And tell 50 Cent you a copy of Beef 3
I'm airing ass out on DVD
You rhyme like Lloyd Banks repeat after me
I'm a G-Unit toy
On Sesame street doing overs
ass ***** need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound like Oscar the Grouch, them nursery rhymes
We was in the studio, I first got signed
He got stuck, he called 50 tryna borrow some
That's the wrong *****, you need help with your rhymes
All he gon' you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad 'cause I wanna make your beef mine
You got with Ja, why you aint go at Shyne?
He freestyled from the pen, just the fact
Said he'd put you your mom, and you ain't fucked with that
you lied about your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Like Father, Son, go ask Busta that
I knew from the beginning not to those cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I could bring Justo
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 like
It's the *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
The is mine, I treat it like home
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
I
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason *****z saying my name like Jones
And I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and it
Do to it, but it in the store the shit moving
Gave 'em a hundred bars, they think I could do it
with two hundred, ***** this is more than music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like
Both feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and
And I beef with any *****, say my name I'm gunnin'
You can put it on if you want it
air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them shits sell out like a Air shoe
I told Funk Flex when I catch the ***** Kid
We gon' see if he know how to DJ with bruised
hit me on the sidekick asking what you did
Get a gun or ask police to use his
'cause Bloods get ya
Bloods Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain
380 spill brains, when I pop shots
Outside NY, in front of cops
Or broad day in L.A., I'ma Em and Dre
***** bootlegging my music, ain't nothing 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
Drop him off at Terror Squad, let him for the jakes
'cause when you fucking with Jayceon, you can in L.A.
For off *****z on them CD's and tapes
Ask them to a record, you will see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cake
Take the DJ off name, Mr. Instant replay
Not the instant
I mean the machine that G-Unit use time 50 on stage singing like
only feel your shit just a lil bit
*****z feel your shit just a lil bit
On my 50 helped me just a lil bit
Only on two songs, now back to some shit
My clips bananas, I a gorilla quick
Beating on your chest, I see to death, yep
Tell Ecko to make him a
Reebock to make him some boots
Get him a head band, to cover the in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy waters Redman
blacked out and let the gun blam without a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the gotta ask for his strings
my advice, never wear air max for the pen
Unless you one of the Bloods, or a latin
'cause if your left the Aryans your ass will sting
And your cell is a 25 to lifer
They'll stab you at Folsom fuck you on Rikers
And Life On
Now back to the coward of the hour who lied and said he my songs
He told Vibe Dre was leave me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept for yourself
***** acting tough before I stand over you
you how The Documentary live on top of The Massacre
Make a move I'm blasting ass to the last one
Ten shots the Mack empty the rest in the passenger
Fase thats enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and the doors on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase think I'm locin' up
Reverse the '05 hurse on and traffic, what
Hip-Hop cops on my left, but I 'em up
The Dodge got a in it, Game got a Remy in 'em
In and out of lanes a New York cab
I'm Mr. Ol' King, New York cab
Who's this fake *****, on pictures with the Jake
Got his crew starving he aint the whole cake, *****
He ain't Nas, B.I.G., ain't Jigga
If he Cube or Pac then who you got?
We tired of you talkin about who you shot
I'll use another six to tell 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 same wanna take us to the Candy Shop
man, what happened to the thug?
Now you could find in the club, him and Banks hugging
***** got mad The Game start buzzing
So making friends now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia about we a family, Game 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 wanna shake hands, or wear your shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your
wanna sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can head to the block
Fresh white Nike airs and the matching socks

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

Now tell me do he got a
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, be at this conference
I'd rather be pushing rock, like Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, like we still
We ain't friends, I'm just acting like Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one hand on my
police on me like I'm the convict
What happened to the old I thought it was rhyming
Doug E. Fresh and Dane on the corner like Common
Now that ain't common, it's more like Top
The is noodles, I throw it up like vomit
And I still like diamonds
They kicked me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like
still Aftermath, two feet in the paint shit.
I be mad, I ain't, I'm supposed to stop I because
I'm in the hood politican, Impala
And I keep a black .45 on the of my prada denim
Chip on my shoulder I'm fresh outta prison
Dollar vision, blow a hundred thou like my missing
re-up like kid before the d-cup
Continuously money with my feet up
Chasing the throne, here my Air Force
I said fuck and got the cover of The Source
me? If not then I guess you gotta kill me
But you ain't gon' do that so move back
I do B.I.G. and 'Pac impersonations on two tracks
When I wake the dead, remove hats
We ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap, why I gotta strapped?
On that murder T-I-P, kill you
They won't know which to patch up, when the K clap
I tried to spare you Buck, now it's time for payback
It go, how you from Cashville but you got no cash nigga?
Say my now that's your fucking ass nigga
Kept your mouth shut and I you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down like the nigga
Buck, buck, from my AK-47
This nigga playing his life, I might have to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, shit up on the stereo
Prepare for burial, it's when I'm reincarnating
And you don't want that David 'cause you your life
Get my Vibe, when war he pull out butter knifes
Muthafucka show you who the gangsta
All you do is Inc., now who the wanksta?
When Suge had you, you were on Tha Row
Juve left you for dead and back to the NO
50 you on the tour bus and felt your little flow
he made you temporary replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and that's hard to
And you got robbed for spinning G-Unit chain in Chicago
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 told 50 that I did that
Ask C-Murder, the boy hard to find
I told Monica I catch him The Boy is Mine
Take one shot of 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 like sheet rock
Don't worry the flow, the boy know he hot
Hurricanes in store November, nigga fuck
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 fuck the world, on my lap
Remember it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now it's whoever muthafucka, yeah, who beef?
Now whenever muthafucka, who see me?
In the coffin, exhausted, resting in peace
You don't want war nigga, you want
So give 'em the peace, (sp?)
Let 'em rest in
west to east the flow is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing with
And I slipped 'em the ace, you replace 'em
If Eazy ever 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 world on my
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat bitch can stop me from it over
is crack music, go get the baking soda
300 Bars and Runnin, nigga the is over
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone