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 shit was wack a muthafucka
fuck with Game

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

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

300 and Runnin
Just 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 than Hova 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 make pissed
Why would I wanna do that? When I'm the new cat
That was if a ***** take shots to shoot back
his yard, yeah standing his ground
I'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the
Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a in Madison square
Watch everybody sleep it
We can go bar for bar, I'll let the lines to 'em
they say? Bleek is over let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em
What you thought? Them was the only that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z with the soonies leave you in Philly
Then dash in groups like Beanie Mac in
?? said Curtis in Philly
a U-turn, I gotta 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
I was Ready To Die, when I heard that he was shot
What's beef? Beef is I murk you on the spot
Labels signing many things, still for they Pac
I put on the block
So I feel threatened when Ludacris say he coming for the #1 spot
Ask 50, it get on top
You can me or love 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 hope you black out before you see the
I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Block
What i got in my high tops will make your breathing
I'm a slash 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 up where my homeboy Eazy stopped
I saw the west coast, put the on my back
Sprayed Aftermath on it, then 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, them the rooster's back
Call Jadakiss, tell him duke is back
I'm still by 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 leaning back, thanks to Fat Joe
You got reservations in heaven, you ready? go
Drop them off, then pop cristal wit
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, is kinda foolish see
*****z running their mouth about what the fuck they do to me
But the yapping before I proceed to clapping
And you gon' see the captain with plans of me captured
Even behind bars, I'm gon' shine
I'm 10 years than Yayo, I get out, I'm fine
Then I go right back, I pop mines
How you gon' Olivia, you only drop dimes
I knew you changed, you started sleeping in that vest dog
I need 50 Cent, my *****z make collect calls
a faggot ***** wig
He got G-Unit wings, throw them off the Queens
Now your career is over, career is
We in QB, banging CNN in the
T-O-N-Y, that's the phony
You ain't the talk of New York, your is boring
Take shit off lingo, go back to PC
And 50 Cent you want 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 voice
Bitch ass ***** a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound Oscar the Grouch, with them nursery rhymes
We was in the studio, when I got signed
He got stuck, he called 50 tryna some lines
That's the wrong *****, when you need with your rhymes
All he gon' tell you is say G-Unit one more
Got mad 'cause I ain't wanna make your mine
You got lucky Ja, why you aint go at Shyne?
He freestyled from the pen, that's just the
Said put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with that
Then you lied about your pops, he ain't never no cap
Like Father, Like Son, go ask Busta
I from the beginning not to trust those cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I bring Justo back
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name like Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it like
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my like Mike Jones
I
The is mine, I treat it like home
the reason *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
And I'm far Houston 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 music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot summer
Both feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and
And I beef any *****, say my name muthafuck I'm gunnin'
You can put it on if you want it
I'll air you out on King, Mike, or Clue
And them shits 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 asking what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's to use his
'cause Bloods get ya
Bloods Bloods Bloods gonna get ya for Shadyville chain
380 spill brains, when I pop shots
Outside NY, in front of hip-hop
Or day in L.A., I'ma tell Em and Dre
This bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to say
me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes
So I'ma 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 *****z on them 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 name, Mr. Instant replay
Not the replay
I mean the machine G-Unit use every time 50 on stage singing like
Bitches only feel shit just a lil bit
*****z only feel 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 kill a quick
Beating on your chest, I see to death, yep
Tell Ecko to make him a
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 like Redman
blacked out and let the gun blam without a M-E-T-H-O-D 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 king
'cause if your left with the your ass will sting
And your mate is a 25 to lifer
stab you at Folsom then fuck you on Rikers
And Life On
Now back to the coward of the who lied and said he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was gonna me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept them for
***** stop acting before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The
Make a move I'm your ass to the last one
Ten shots the Mack empty the rest in the passenger
Fase yelling enough, let the coroner bag him up
in Makaveli and lift the doors on the Maganum
Gun smoking, think I'm locin' backing up
Reverse the '05 hurse on and traffic, what
Hip-Hop on my left, but I pass 'em up
The Dodge got a hemmy in it, got a Remy in 'em
In and out of like a New York cab
I'm Mr. Ol' King, New York 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 or Pac then who you got?
We getting tired of you talkin about who you
I'll use six bars to tell you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he went out like a
You out with Vivica, three 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, happened to the thug?
Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd hugging
***** got mad The Game start buzzing
So fuck making friends now I'm throwing slugs
Olivia talking we a family, Game had to go
***** I'll that ho like I'm Jackie-O
'cause I don't wanna be cool, I don't be you
I don't wanna shake hands, or your G-Unit shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, don't be in your group
Just wanna sit here and
To be gone, so I can head back to the
Fresh white Nike airs and the matching socks

Pull the brim low, if they 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 game and shitted, 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, don't want Jayceon to play
And the DA waiting on Jayceon to 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 down criminal way
Pushing the rock, nah ain't no subliminal Jay
The summer too hot, and I want the to stay
'cause I'm a cold ***** when I put the pen to the
Similar to them shells going into my
I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them into
And Just Blaze, the boy got game
I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain
Now to reality, my gun and my vest
And if diamonds are forever, then I'm West
a look at my chest, a hundred thou at jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred can't break 'em
And the flow is hot that wit Satan
And the only thing I got is Daytons
The hotter I get the willing to snake 'em
So soon as the beat drop, watch I take 'em
Compton meet, to get me some All-Stars
Game in the house, they callin all cars
'cause they heard about what on in D.C.
about Hot 97, my beef with 50

Now me do he got a conscience?
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be in this nonsense
be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this conference
I'd rather be pushing rock, Samantha Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, like we bonding
We ain't friends, I'm just acting like Charles
Middle finger in the air, one hand on my
Hip-Hop on me like I'm the convict
What happened to the old school? I thought it was
Doug E. Fresh and Daina on the corner like Common
Now that ain't common, it's more like Top
The flow is noodles, I throw it up vomit
And I still shine diamonds
kicked me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like Rodman
It's still Aftermath, two feet in the 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
on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prison
Dollar vision, a hundred thou like my wallet missing
Then re-up kid before the d-cup
Continuously money with my feet up
Chasing the throne, here my Air Force
I said fuck Benzino and got the cover of The
Feel me? If not then I guess you gotta me
But you gon' do that so muthafucka move back
While I do B.I.G. and 'Pac on two tracks
When I the dead, everybody remove hats
We ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap, why I stay strapped?
On murder T-I-P, kill you ASAP
They know which hole to patch up, when the K clap
I tried to spare you Young Buck, now it's time for
It go, how you from Cashville but you got no cash nigga?
Say my name now your fucking ass nigga
your mouth shut and I gave you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down like the last
Buck, buck, buck from my
This nigga playing with his life, I have to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, talking up on the stereo
Prepare for burial, when I'm reincarnating Harry-O
And you don't want David 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe, it's war he pull out butter knifes
I'ma show 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 temporary replacement for
You a bitch, and that's to swallow
And you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit in Chicago
I my nigga Jojo to get it back
He had the in his hands, and you ain't had the ten stacks
Picture that, I we was G-Unit
Then you ran and told 50 I did that shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy hard to find
I told when I catch him The Boy is Mine
Take one of Brandy and pop
his panties drop, when 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 just boxed
Got 20 bars to go, lay it down like rock
Don't worry about the flow, the boy he hot
Hurricanes in store November, nigga Reebocks
I'm fly like a Hummingbird on a top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I need three
280 in, ain't no getting me
I'm yelling fuck the world, on my lap
first it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now it's whoever muthafucka, yeah, who want
Now muthafucka, who wanna see me?
In the coffin, body exhausted, in peace
You don't war nigga, you want peace
So give 'em the peace, (sp?)
Let 'em in peace
From west to the flow is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm with Satan
And I slipped 'em the ace, you cannot 'em
If Eazy ever 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 on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat bitch can me from taking it over
This is 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