Luyện nghe bài hát Got Ur Self A...

Woke up mornin', (yeah)
You got a gun (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Got a gun

Yo, I'm livin' in time behind enemy lines so

I got mine, I hope you (got a gun)
You from the I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
You beef? I hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma what I want
So, you tried to front, ya (got yo'self a gun)
You real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)

My, first album had no famous appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
Many years on this professional
Why would you question better? The world is still mine
Tattoos real "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts that
To take it to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the struggle
You lames should huddle, your shook
feel the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, pads apparel
But the Q.B. don't for no quarterback
Every is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all all soft
And I'm the black hearse that to haul y'all ass in
for the hood by the corner store
Many try, many die, come at Nas if you a war, get it bloody, uh

Yo, I'm the N the A to the
And If I wasn't, I been Escobar
You know the kid got his chipped fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for
It's the of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? awaited the true savior
Puffin' that tropical, cups of that too
Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a
Throw up? Never, I do this through righteous steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of
Call me "God's Son", with my low
I don't die slow, put them rags up Petey Pablo
This is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with Nas flow
Flip the beat back, now it's all
Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my collection, yo

It's, the, return of the Prince, the
This is real hardcore, Kid and Limp Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I
Stick shift, look sick up in that Boxter
With the top cut off, kids go and cop The Source
They don't know the blocks I'm on
And want to know where the kid go? Where he rest at?
he shop at and dress at?
Know he got dough, where he live? Is he still in the bridge?
Does he really how ill that he is?
Got all of y'all my moves, my watch and my jewels
Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like
It's not my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my shoes, I iced that
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
it gangsta wit' ya, uh

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