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 hope you (got a gun)
You from the I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
You want beef? I ya (got yo'self a gun)
And I see you I'ma take what I want
So, you tried to front, ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got a gun)

My, first album had no guest appearances
The outcome: I'm crowned the lyricist
Many years on this professional
Why would you question who's better? The world is mine
Tattoos real "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts like
To it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac were of the same struggle
You should huddle, your team's shook
Y'all feel the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder apparel
But the Q.B. stand for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause all soft
And I'm the black hearse that came to y'all ass in
It's for the by the corner store
Many try, 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 been Escobar
You the kid got his chipped tooth fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, for life
It's the return of the Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you Y'all awaited the true savior
that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this through righteous
You Judists I was gone, so in light of my death
Y'all all happy-go-lucky, bunch of sambos
Call me "God's Son", with my low
I don't die slow, put them rags up like Petey
This is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas
Flip the beat back, now it's all
Hit the sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo

It's, the, of the Prince, the boss
This is hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I
shift, look sick up in that Boxter Porsche
With the top cut off, rich kids go and cop The
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, does he live? Is he still in the bridge?
Does he really know how ill he is?
Got all of y'all my moves, my watch and my jewels
Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like
It's not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty
at my tennis shoes, I iced that
Who am I? The back-twister,
leg-spreader, quicker brain-getter
Keepin' it wit' ya, uh

x2]