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 enemy lines so

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

My, first had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
Many on this professional level
Why would you question who's better? The is still mine
Tattoos 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 of the same struggle
You lames huddle, your team's shook
Y'all the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes a barrel, shoulder pads apparel
But the Q.B. don't for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, y'all all soft
And I'm the hearse that came to haul y'all ass in
It's for the hood by the corner
Many try, many die, 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 fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for
It's the return of the Golden Child, son of a player
So who are you Y'all awaited the true savior
Puffin' that tropical, cups of that too
Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this through righteous
You Judists thought I was gone, so in of my death
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, of sambos
me "God's Son", with 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 back, now it's all reppin'
Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my collection, yo

It's, the, of the Prince, the boss
is real 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 everybody want to know where the kid go? Where he 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 watchin' my moves, my watch and my jewels
Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like
not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my shoes, I iced that
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
Keepin' it gangsta ya, uh

x2]