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

My, album had no famous guest appearances
The I'm crowned the best lyricist
Many years on professional level
Why you question who's better? The world is still mine
Tattoos real with "God's Son" across the
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts like
To take it back to Africa, I did it Biggie
Me and Tupac were of the same struggle
You should huddle, your team's shook
Y'all the wrath 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, 'cause y'all all
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 Escobar
You know the kid got his chipped tooth
Hair parted a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for life
It's the return of the Golden Child, son of a player
So who are you playa? awaited the true savior
Puffin' that tropical, of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this through steps
You thought 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 Petey Pablo
This is dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow
the beat 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
Stick shift, look up in that Boxter Porsche
With the top cut off, rich go and cop The Source
They don't know about the I'm on
And everybody want to know 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 know 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, quicker
it gangsta wit' ya, uh

x2]