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 this time behind enemy so

I got mine, I you (got yo'self a gun)
You from the hood I hope you (got a gun)
You want beef? I ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take 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 guest appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
Many years on professional level
Why would you question who's better? The world is still
Tattoos real with "God's Son" 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 of the same struggle
You lames should huddle, team's shook
Y'all feel the of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder apparel
But the Q.B. stand for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, y'all all soft
And I'm the black hearse that came to y'all ass in
It's for the hood by the store
try, many die, come at Nas if you want a war, get it bloody, uh

Yo, I'm the N the A to the
And If I wasn't, I must've Escobar
You the kid got his chipped tooth fixed
Hair with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for life
It's the of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? awaited the true savior
Puffin' tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this through steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my
been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of sambos
Call me "God's Son", my pants low
I don't die slow, put rags up like Petey Pablo
is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this 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 Rock and Limp Bizkit's
Sip Cris', get chips, gliss, I floss
Stick shift, look sick up in that Porsche
the top cut off, rich kids go and cop The Source
They don't know the blocks I'm on
And everybody to know where the kid go? Where he rest at?
Where he at and dress at?
Know he got dough, where does he live? Is he 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 like that
It's not my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my tennis shoes, I iced
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
Keepin' it gangsta ya, uh

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