Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

My mama took me to Sam
I to buy a 50 Cent CD
I took shit home
That was wack like a muthafucka
Don't with Game

I 50 Cent
He me Spongebob
And Tony is Blues Clues
And Lloyd is Dora the Explorer
They're my

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

300 Bars and
Just loan me your for 15 minutes
with me

Here the breakdown, pass the doja, .45 in the
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them they toy soldiers
Oh, that boy than Hova unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but ain't the takeover
Now, there's the speaker, bring ears a little closer
you call this a diss, and you make Hova pissed
Why would I do that? When I'm just the new cat
was taught if a ***** take shots to shoot back
Defending his yard, yeah standing his
I'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the
Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in Madison
Watch everybody sleep it
We can go bar for bar, I'll let the speak to 'em
they say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, smack 'em silly
What you Them was the only *****z that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z with the soonies you wrapped in Philly
Then dash in groups Beanie Mac in Philly
?? said Curtis Jack in
Make a U-turn, I gotta go back to
I my cheese stake, that's what I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the dogs searching for the glock
And I forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the cops
I was Ready To Die, when I heard that he was shot
What's beef? Beef is I murk you on the spot
signing many things, still searching for they Pac
I put purple on the
So I feel threatened when Ludacris 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 only he got
When it's beef we eat, we win, but we ain't we pop
You sell records but a not!
big on the radio, to me you not
You can ask Mr. CCC who hot
Tony I bet 10 G's you flop
Run up on new 300 C you got
Stop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding
And I hope you black out you see the cops
I High Top from Colors, I'm from Cedar Block
What i got in my high tops make your breathing stop
I'm a gangsta rapper, check your CD shop
I'm like Elvis in there, can't believe he dropped
Now I'm moving on up to and Weezy's spot
I up where my homeboy Eazy stopped
I saw the west coast, put the shit on my
Sprayed Aftermath on it, loosened the strap
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring hell to when Dre producing a track
Take it to the streets, put the duece to your hat
Then up the pigs, tell them the rooster's back
Call Jadakiss, tell him that duke is
I'm still by your side, no matter who comes
Fuck Lloyd Banks, it ain't who can rap
It's when the ruger clap, is rufus back
I see what you thinkin, you me to die, is that so?
Now you leaning back, thanks to Fat Joe
You got reservations in heaven, you Let's go
Drop off, then pop cristal wit Esko
I'm a say he hit me first, if me and Dre
All Nas back was he had a 3-4
Now that's the eulogy, beef is foolish see
running their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the before I proceed to clapping
And you gon' see the captain with plans of getting me
Even 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 mines
How you gon' drop Olivia, you only dimes
I knew you changed, when you started in that vest dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my *****z collect calls
1-800-split a ***** wig
He got G-Unit wings, them off the Queens Bridge
Now your career is over, career is
We in QB, banging CNN in the
T-O-N-Y, that's the NORE
You ain't the talk of New York, sixteens is boring
Take that shit off lingo, go to PC
And tell 50 Cent you a copy of Beef 3
I'm their ass out on DVD
You wanna rhyme like Banks repeat after me
I'm a toy soldier
On Sesame doing voice overs
Bitch ass need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound like Oscar the Grouch, with them rhymes
We was in the studio, I first got signed
He got stuck, he called 50 tryna borrow lines
That's the wrong *****, you need help with your rhymes
All he tell you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad 'cause I ain't wanna make your mine
You got lucky Ja, why you aint go at Shyne?
He freestyled the pen, that's just the fact
Said he'd put you your mom, and you ain't fucked with that
Then you about your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Like Father, Son, go ask Busta that
I from the beginning not to trust those cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I could Justo back
The underground is mine, I it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it home
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
I
The underground is mine, I treat it like
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
And I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and it
Do whatever to it, but it in the store the moving
Gave 'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I do it
Came with two hundred, ***** this is more music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like
feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin
And I beef with any *****, say my muthafuck I'm gunnin'
You can put it on skee if you it
air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them sell out like a Air Jordon shoe
I Funk Flex when I catch the ***** Whoo Kid
We see if he know how to DJ with bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the sidekick asking you did
Get a gun or ask police to use his
Bloods gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain
That 380 spill brains, when I pop
Outside NY, in front of hip-hop
Or day in L.A., I'ma tell Em and Dre
This ***** bootlegging my music, ain't 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 caking off *****z on CD's and tapes
Ask to scratch a record, you will see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cheese
Take the DJ off your name, Mr. replay
Not the instant
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on stage like
only feel your shit just a lil bit
*****z only feel your shit a lil bit
On my album 50 me just a lil bit
Only on two songs, now to some killa shit
My clips bananas, I a gorilla quick
Beating on chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell to make him a suit
Tell Reebock to make him boots
Get him a band, to cover the holes in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy waters Redman
Banks blacked out and let the gun blam without a Man
So the lieutenant ask for his strings
Take my advice, never air max for the pen
you one of the Bloods, or a latin king
'cause if your left with the Aryans your ass sting
And your cell is a 25 to lifer
They'll you at Folsom then fuck you on Rikers
And Goes On
Now to the coward of the hour who lied and said he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was gonna leave me on the
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept for yourself
stop acting tough before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary on top of The Massacre
Make a I'm blasting your ass to the last one
Ten shots from the Mack the rest in the passenger
Fase yelling thats enough, let the bag him up
in Makaveli and lift the doors on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase think I'm backing up
Reverse the '05 on 41st and traffic, what
Hip-Hop cops on my left, but I 'em up
The Dodge got a hemmy in it, Game got a in 'em
In and out of lanes a New York cab
I'm Mr. Ol' King, that New cab
Who's this fake *****, on pictures the Jake *****?
Got his crew 'cause he aint the whole cake, *****
He ain't Nas, B.I.G., ain't Jigga
If he ain't Cube or Pac then who you
We getting of you talkin about who you shot
use another six bars to tell you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he out like a gangsta
You went out with Vivica, three months after
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we you was hot
Now the same ***** wanna take us to the Shop
C'mon man, what happened to the
Now you could find in the club, him and Banks hugging
***** got mad The Game start buzzing
So fuck making now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia talking we a family, Game had to go
***** I'll smack ho like I'm Jackie-O
I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna hands, or wear your G-Unit shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, wanna be in your group
Just sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can head back to the
Fresh white airs and the matching socks fitted

Pull the brim low, if they get it
Coup on gold daytons, I was the first one with it
Four times platinum, I done there and did it
Came in the and shitted, then wiped my ass with it
They say the Lord givth, if Lord take it
So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll for the day
*****z hating on me, they don't want to play
And the DA waiting on Jayceon to make a
So can put me in the squad car and lock me away
me a odd job in the pen for minimum pay
Let me out so I can down criminal way
the rock, nah this ain't no subliminal Jay
The summer too hot, and I the winter to stay
'cause I'm a cold ***** when I put the pen to the
Similar to them shells into my gauge
I 'em off to Dre, he turned them into granades
And Blaze, 'cause the boy got game
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 at my chest, a hundred thou at jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred thou can't 'em
And the flow is hot that wit Satan
And the only thing I got is Daytons
The hotter I get the more to snake 'em
So as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em
Compton meet, to get me some All-Stars
When in the house, they callin all cars
'cause they about what went on in D.C.
Heard about Hot 97, my beef 50

Now tell me do he got a
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be in this nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this
I'd rather be pushing rock, like Samantha
50 whispered in my ear, like we bonding
We friends, I'm just acting like Charles Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one on my Johnson
Hip-Hop police on me I'm the convict
What happened to the old I thought it was rhyming
Doug E. Fresh and Daina Dane on the corner like
Now that ain't common, it's more like Top
The flow is noodles, I it up like vomit
And I still like diamonds
kicked me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like Rodman
It's Aftermath, two feet in the paint shit.
I be mad, I ain't, I'm supposed to stop I can't
I'm in the hood politican, Impala
And I a black .45 on the side of my prada denim
Chip on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta
Dollar vision, blow a hundred thou like my wallet
Then like kid before the d-cup
Continuously getting money with my up
Chasing the throne, here my Air Force
I said fuck and got the cover of The Source
Feel me? If not then I guess you gotta me
But you ain't gon' do so muthafucka move back
While I do B.I.G. and impersonations on two tracks
When I wake the dead, everybody hats
We ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap, why I gotta strapped?
On that murder T-I-P, you ASAP
They won't know which hole to up, when the K clap
I tried to spare you Young Buck, now time for payback
It go, how you Cashville but you ain't got no cash nigga?
Say my name now that's fucking ass nigga
Kept your mouth shut and I you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down the last nigga
Buck, buck, from my AK-47
This nigga playing with his life, I might to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, talking shit up on the
for burial, it's when I'm reincarnating Harry-O
And you want that David 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe, when it's war he out butter knifes
Muthafucka I'ma you who the gangsta
All you do is Murder Inc., now who the
When Suge had you, you stranded on Tha Row
Juve left you for and went back to the NO
50 heard you on the tour bus and felt little flow
Then he made you replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and hard to swallow
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
that, I thought we was G-Unit
Then you ran and told 50 I did that shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy hard to find
I told Monica when I catch him The Boy is
one shot of Brandy and pop
Watch his panties drop, I run inside the Candy Shop
you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the cops
And Olivia, I for a man she hot
Now I'm running out of breath, I just beat boxed
Got 20 bars to go, lay it down like rock
worry about the flow, the boy know he hot
Hurricanes in store November, nigga fuck
I'm fly like a on a tree top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I three spots
280 in, ain't no me back
I'm yelling the world, on my victory lap
first it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now it's muthafucka, yeah, who want beef?
Now whenever muthafucka, who see me?
In the coffin, exhausted, resting in peace
You don't want war nigga, you peace
So give 'em the peace, (sp?)
Let 'em in peace
From west to east the is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm with Satan
And I 'em the ace, you cannot replace 'em
If ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A king in the making, and the is for the taking
So I climb the top and put my stake in
Got the of the world on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat bitch can stop me taking it over
This is crack music, go get the baking
300 Bars and Runnin, nigga the wait is
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone