Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

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

I like 50
He me Spongebob
And Yayo is Blues Clues
And Lloyd Banks is Dora the
They're my

I went down one of them Bodaga shits right in Harlem
Got me a Lloyd Banks and Young Buck CD
Took that home, put it in my boom box
Thought I was to be on some radio Raheim shit
Man that sound like some Vanessa Williams '88
I mean Olivia cute but they say that 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 colder Hova unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but this ain't the
Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a little
Before you call this a diss, and you Hova pissed
Why would I wanna do that? When I'm the new cat
That was taught if a ***** take shots to back
Defending his yard, yeah standing his
I'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the
Nah, let do it, then throw him a concert in Madison square
everybody sleep through it
We can go bar for bar, let the lines speak to 'em
What they say? Bleek is let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, smack 'em silly
What you thought? Them was the only that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z with the soonies leave you in Philly
Then in groups like Beanie Mac in Philly
?? Curtis Jack in Philly
a U-turn, I gotta go back to Philly
I forgot my cheese stake, that's I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the
And I can't forget, B.I.G. got by the cops
Even I was Ready To Die, when I 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 on the block
So I don't feel threatened Ludacris 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 lonely 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 Yayo I bet 10 G's you
Run up on new 300 C you got
Stop hoping I fall, hope the bleeding
And I hope you out before 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, they can't he dropped
Now I'm on up to George and Weezy's spot
I picked up where my Eazy stopped
I saw the coast, put the shit on my back
Sprayed on it, then 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 duece to hat
Then call up the pigs, tell them the rooster's
Call Jadakiss, tell him 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 ruger clap, is rufus
I see you thinkin, you want me to die, is that so?
Now you leaning back, thanks to Fat Joe
You got reservations in heaven, you Let's go
Drop them off, pop cristal 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 their mouth about what the they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping before I proceed to
And you gon' see the captain with plans of me captured
Even bars, I'm still gon' shine
I'm 10 younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm fine
Then I go back, ***** I pop mines
How you gon' Olivia, you only drop dimes
I knew you changed, when you started sleeping in 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 Bridge
Now your career is over, is over
We in QB, CNN in the rover
T-O-N-Y, that's the phony
You ain't the of New York, your sixteens is boring
that shit off lingo, go back to PC
And tell 50 you want a copy of Beef 3
I'm their ass out on DVD
You wanna rhyme like Lloyd Banks repeat me
I'm a toy soldier
On Sesame doing voice overs
Bitch ass ***** need a rhyme dictionary, to 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 *****, when you need help with your rhymes
All he gon' tell you is say one more time
Got mad I ain't wanna make your beef mine
You got lucky with Ja, why you aint go at
He freestyled the pen, that's just the fact
Said he'd put you with your mom, and you 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 cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I could Justo back
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason *****z saying my like Mike Jones
The is mine, I treat it like home
the reason *****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
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
And I'm far from but you can chop it and screw it
Do to it, but it in the store the shit moving
'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do it
Came with two hundred, this is more than music
Dre knew it, that boy hot like summer
Both feet in the dirt, 300 and Runnin
And I beef with any *****, say my name I'm gunnin'
You can put it on skee if you it
I'll air you out on Drama King, Mike, or
And watch them shits sell out a Air Jordon shoe
I told Flex when I catch the ***** Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he know how to DJ bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the sidekick what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's to use his
'cause gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods Bloods get ya for that Shadyville chain
380 spill brains, when I pop shots
Outside NY, in of hip-hop cops
Or broad day in L.A., I'ma 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 I'ma take him out his house, put the on his face
Drop him off at Squad, let him scream for the jakes
'cause when you fucking Jayceon, you can believe in L.A.
For caking off *****z on them CD's and
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 your name, Mr. replay
Not the replay
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every 50 on stage singing like
only feel your shit just a lil bit
*****z only your shit just a lil bit
On my album 50 helped me a lil bit
Only on two songs, now back to some shit
My clips bananas, I kill a gorilla
Beating on chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell Ecko to him a suit
Tell Reebock to make him boots
Get him a head band, to 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, wear air max for the pen
Unless you one of the Bloods, or a latin
'cause if your left with the Aryans your ass sting
And cell mate is a 25 to lifer
They'll stab you at Folsom fuck you on Rikers
And Goes On
Now back to the coward of the hour who lied and he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was gonna me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you kept them for yourself
***** stop tough before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary on top of The Massacre
a move I'm blasting your ass to the last one
Ten shots from the empty the rest in the passenger
yelling thats enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and lift the 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, 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 'cause he aint the cake, *****
He Nas, ain't B.I.G., ain't Jigga
If he Cube or Pac then who you got?
We getting tired of you talkin who you shot
I'll use six bars to tell you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he went out like a
You went out with Vivica, three after wanksta
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we you was hot
Now the ***** wanna take us to the Candy Shop
C'mon man, what happened to the
Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd Banks
***** got mad when The Game start
So making friends now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia about we a family, Game had to go
***** I'll that ho like I'm Jackie-O
I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna shake hands, or wear your G-Unit
Don't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your
wanna sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can back to the block
Fresh white Nike airs and the matching socks

Pull the low, if they don't get it
Bentley Coup on gold daytons, I was the one with it
Four times platinum, I done been and did it
Came in the and shitted, then wiped my ass with it
say the Lord givth, if Lord take it away
So I build a on top of Hip-Hop, I'll wait for the day
*****z hating on me, they don't Jayceon to play
And the DA waiting on to make 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
the rock, nah this ain't no subliminal Jay
The summer too hot, and I want the to stay
'cause I'm a cold ***** I put the pen to the page
Similar to them shells into my gauge
I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them granades
And Just Blaze, the boy got game
Like I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc
Now back to reality, my gun and my
And if diamonds are forever, then I'm Kanye
Take a look at my chest, a hundred at jacob
Whole crew got chains, a thou can't break 'em
And the flow is hot that wit Satan
And the only thing I got is Daytons
The I get the more willing to snake 'em
So as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em
Compton Swap meet, to get me some
When Game in the house, they callin all
'cause they heard what went on in D.C.
Heard about Hot 97, my beef 50

Now tell me do he got a
I think not, if he did I wouldn't be involved in this nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this
I'd rather be rock, like Samantha Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, we still bonding
We ain't friends, I'm just acting like Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one hand on my
Hip-Hop on me like I'm the convict
happened to the old school? I thought it was rhyming
Doug E. and Daina Dane on the corner like Common
Now that common, it's more like Top Ramen
The flow is noodles, I throw it up like
And I still shine like
kicked 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 supposed to stop I can't
I'm in the hood politican, liffin'
And I keep a .45 on the side of my prada denim
Chip on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta
Dollar vision, blow a hundred like my wallet missing
Then like kid before the d-cup
Continuously getting money my feet up
Chasing the throne, here my Air Force
I fuck Benzino and got the cover of The Source
Feel me? If not then I guess you kill me
But you ain't gon' do so muthafucka move back
While I do B.I.G. and 'Pac on two tracks
When I wake the dead, everybody remove
We ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now to rap, why I gotta stay strapped?
On that murder T-I-P, you ASAP
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 name now 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, buck from my
This nigga with 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 reincarnating
And you don't want David 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe, when war he pull out butter knifes
Muthafucka I'ma show you who the
All you do is Inc., now who the wanksta?
When had you, you were stranded on Tha Row
left you for dead and went back to the NO
50 heard you on the tour bus and felt your flow
Then he made you replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and hard to swallow
And you got robbed for your spinning chain in Chicago
I call my nigga to get it back
He had the shit in his hands, and you 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 when I catch him The Boy is Mine
one shot of Brandy 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 down like sheet
Don't worry the flow, the boy know he hot
Hurricanes in store November, nigga Reebocks
I'm fly a Hummingbird on a tree top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I need spots
280 in, ain't no getting me
I'm yelling fuck the world, on my lap
Remember first it was Buddens, it was Bleek
Now it's whoever muthafucka, yeah, who beef?
Now whenever muthafucka, who see me?
In the coffin, body exhausted, in peace
You want war nigga, you want peace
So 'em the peace, capiche (sp?)
Let 'em rest in
From west to east the is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing Satan
And I slipped 'em the ace, you cannot 'em
If Eazy ever decide to return, I remain
A king in the making, and the is for the taking
So I climb the top and put my stake in
Got the weight of the world on my
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat can stop me from taking it over
This is crack music, go get the baking
300 Bars and Runnin, the wait is over
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone