Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

My took me to Sam Goody's
I wanted to buy a 50 CD
I that shit home
That shit was like a muthafucka
fuck with Game

I 50 Cent
He me Spongebob
And Tony is Blues Clues
And Banks is Dora the Explorer
my friends

I went one of them Bodaga shits right there in Harlem
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 some Raheim shit
Man that shit sound some Vanessa Williams '88
I mean Olivia but they say that bitch a man
So this Wallstreet for life now
GGG-UNOT!

300 and Runnin
loan me your ears for 15 minutes
Walk me

Here the breakdown, the doja, .45 in the holster
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, *****z they toy soldiers
Oh, that boy than Hova unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but ain't the takeover
Now, the speaker, bring your 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
That was taught if a ***** take to shoot back
Defending his yard, standing his ground
I'm saying if you retire, then hand me the crown
Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in Madison
Watch everybody through it
We can go bar for bar, let the lines speak to 'em
they say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do it
They say the thing, I'ma smack 'em silly
you thought? Them was the only *****z that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z with the soonies leave you in Philly
Then dash in groups Beanie Mac in Philly
?? said Jack in Philly
Make a U-turn, I gotta go to Philly
I forgot my cheese stake, that's what I told the
So wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the glock
And I can't forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the
Even I was Ready To Die, when I that he was shot
What's beef? Beef is when I you on the spot
Labels signing things, still searching for they Pac
I put purple on the
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 me, but now the cops the only homies he got
When it's beef we eat, we win, but we ain't we pop
You records but a GGG-u 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
hoping I fall, hope the bleeding stop
And I you black out before you see the cops
I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Block
What i got in my tops will make your breathing stop
I'm a gangsta slash rapper, your CD shop
I'm like in there, they can't believe he dropped
Now I'm moving on up to George and spot
I up where my homeboy Eazy stopped
I saw the west coast, put the shit on my
Sprayed on it, then loosened the strap
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring hell to *****z Dre producing a track
it to the streets, put the duece duece to your hat
Then call up the pigs, tell them the back
Jadakiss, tell him that duke is back
I'm still by your side, no who comes strapped
Fuck Banks, it ain't about who can rap
It's about when the clap, is rufus back
I see you thinkin, you want me to die, is that so?
Now you leaning back, thanks to Fat Joe
You got in heaven, you ready? Let's go
Drop them off, then pop cristal wit
I'm a say he hit me first, if me and Dre
All Nas said 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 yapping before I proceed to
And you gon' see the with plans of getting me captured
Even behind bars, I'm still shine
I'm 10 years than Yayo, I get out, I'm fine
Then I go right back, I pop mines
How you gon' drop Olivia, you only drop
I you changed, when you started sleeping in that vest dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my *****z make calls
1-800-split a faggot wig
He got G-Unit wings, throw them off the Queens
Now your career is over, is over
We in QB, banging CNN in the
T-O-N-Y, the phony NORE
You ain't the talk of New York, your sixteens is
Take that off lingo, go back 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 toy soldier
On Sesame street voice overs
Bitch ass need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound like the Grouch, with them nursery rhymes
We was in the studio, when I got signed
He got stuck, he called 50 tryna borrow lines
That's the wrong *****, when you help with your rhymes
All he gon' you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad I ain't wanna make your beef mine
You got lucky with Ja, why you go at Shyne?
He freestyled from the pen, just the fact
he'd put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with that
Then you lied your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Like Father, Like Son, go ask Busta
I knew from the beginning not to trust those
I'd kill 'em all, if I could Justo back
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z my name like Mike Jones
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name like Mike
The underground is mine, I treat it home
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
I
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason saying my name like Mike Jones
And I'm far from but you can chop it and screw it
Do whatever to it, but it in the store the moving
Gave 'em a hundred bars, they think I could do it
Came with two hundred, ***** this is more music
Even Dre it, that boy hot like summer
Both feet in the dirt, 300 and Runnin
And I with any *****, say my name muthafuck I'm gunnin'
You can put it on skee if you it
I'll air you out on King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them shits sell out a Air Jordon shoe
I told 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 asking what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's to use his
'cause gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville chain
That 380 spill brains, I pop shots
Outside NY, in front of cops
Or broad day in L.A., I'ma Em and Dre
This ***** bootlegging my music, 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 scream for the
'cause when you with Jayceon, you can believe in L.A.
For caking off on them CD's and tapes
Ask them to scratch a record, you see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, run and go get him a cheese cake
Take the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant
Not the instant
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on singing like
Bitches feel your shit just a lil bit
*****z feel your shit just a lil bit
On my album 50 helped me a lil bit
on two songs, now back to some killa shit
My clips bananas, I kill a quick
on your chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell Ecko to him a suit
Tell Reebock to make him some
Get him a head band, to cover the in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy waters like
blacked out and let the gun blam without a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the gotta ask for his strings
Take my advice, never air max for the pen
Unless you one of the Bloods, or a king
'cause if your left the Aryans your ass will sting
And your cell mate is a 25 to
stab you at Folsom then fuck you on Rikers
And Goes On
Now back to the coward of the hour who and said he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was leave me on the shelf
So he me all his hits, you should've kept them for yourself
***** stop acting tough I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The
Make a move I'm blasting ass to the last one
Ten shots from the Mack the rest in the passenger
Fase thats enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and lift the doors on the
Gun smoking, Fase I'm locin' backing up
the '05 hurse on 41st and traffic, what
Hip-Hop cops on my left, but I 'em up
The got a hemmy in it, Game got a Remy 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 with the Jake
Got his crew starving 'cause he aint the whole cake,
He Nas, ain't B.I.G., ain't Jigga
If he ain't or Pac then who you got?
We getting tired of you talkin about who you
I'll use another six bars to you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he out like a gangsta
You went out with Vivica, months after wanksta
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we you was hot
Now the same wanna take us to the Candy Shop
C'mon man, what to the thug?
Now you could in the club, him and Lloyd Banks hugging
***** got mad when The Game buzzing
So fuck friends now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia about we a family, Game had to go
I'll smack that ho like I'm Jackie-O
'cause I don't be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna shake hands, or wear your shoes
want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your group
Just wanna sit here and
To be gone, so I can back to the block
Fresh white Nike airs and the matching fitted

the brim low, if they don't get it
Bentley on gold daytons, I was the first one with it
Four platinum, I done been there and did it
in the game and shitted, then wiped my ass with it
They say the givth, if Lord take it away
So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll for the day
*****z hating on me, they don't want Jayceon to
And the DA on Jayceon to make a mistake
So they can put me in the squad car and lock me
Give me a odd job in the pen for pay
Let me out so I can drive down way
the rock, nah this 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
to them shells going into my gauge
I 'em off to Dre, he turned them into granades
And Just Blaze, 'cause the boy got
I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain
Now back to reality, my gun and my
And if are forever, then I'm Kanye West
Take a at my chest, a hundred thou at jacob
crew got chains, a hundred thou can't break 'em
And the flow is hot like that wit
And the thing I got spinning is Daytons
The hotter I get the more willing to 'em
So as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em
Compton Swap meet, to get me some
When Game in the house, 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 in this nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at conference
I'd rather be rock, like Samantha Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, we still bonding
We ain't friends, I'm just like Charles Bronson
finger in the air, one hand on my Johnson
Hip-Hop police on me like I'm the
What happened to the old school? I it was rhyming
E. Fresh and Daina Dane on the corner like Common
Now ain't common, it's more like Top Ramen
The flow is noodles, I it up like vomit
And I still like diamonds
They me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like Rodman
It's still Aftermath, two in the paint shit.
I be mad, I ain't, I'm to stop I can't because
I'm in the politican, Impala liffin'
And I keep a .45 on the side of my prada denim
Chip on my shoulder like I'm fresh prison
vision, blow a hundred thou like my wallet missing
Then like kid before the d-cup
Continuously getting with my feet up
the throne, here my black Air Force
I said fuck and got the cover of The Source
Feel me? If not then I guess you kill me
But you ain't gon' do that so 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, kill you
They won't know hole to patch up, when the K clap
I to spare you Young Buck, now it's time for payback
It go, how you from but you ain't got no cash nigga?
Say my name now that's fucking ass nigga
Kept your shut and I gave you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down the last nigga
Buck, buck, buck from my
This nigga playing his life, I might have to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, talking up on the stereo
Prepare for burial, it's when I'm Harry-O
And you don't want that 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe, when it's war he pull out butter
I'ma 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 heard you on the tour bus and felt little flow
Then he you temporary replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and that's hard to
And you got robbed for your G-Unit chain in Chicago
I call my nigga to get it back
He had the shit in his hands, and you had the ten stacks
that, I thought we was G-Unit
Then you ran and 50 that I did that shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy ain't hard to
I told when I catch him The Boy is Mine
Take one shot of and pop
Watch his panties drop, I run inside 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 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 Hummingbird on a top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I need spots
280 in, ain't no me back
I'm fuck the world, on my victory lap
Remember it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now it's muthafucka, yeah, who want beef?
Now whenever muthafucka, who see me?
In the coffin, body exhausted, resting in
You want war nigga, you want peace
So give 'em the peace, (sp?)
Let 'em in peace
From west to east the is outdatable, irreplacable
homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing with Satan
And I 'em the ace, you cannot replace 'em
If ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A in the making, and the throne 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 taking it
is crack music, go get the baking soda
300 Bars and Runnin, the wait is over
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone