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 hope ya (got a gun)
And when I see you I'ma what I want
So, you to front, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got a gun)

My, first album had no famous guest
The outcome: I'm crowned the lyricist
years on this professional level
Why you question who's better? The world is still mine
real with "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" thoughts like that
To take it to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the same
You lames huddle, your team's shook
Y'all feel the of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
passes from a barrel, shoulder 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 came to y'all ass in
for the hood 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 must've been
You know the kid got his chipped tooth
Hair parted a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for life
the return of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? Y'all the true savior
Puffin' that tropical, cups of Vodka too
Papi chu', up, wake up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this righteous steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my
Y'all 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
This is Nasdaq dough, in my with this Nas flow
the beat back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo

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

x2]