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 lines so

I got mine, I you (got yo'self a gun)
You the hood I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
You want beef? I ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you 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 had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm crowned the best
Many years on this level
Why would you question who's The world is still mine
Tattoos real "God's Son" across the belly
The of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts like that
To take it back to Africa, I did it Biggie
Me and Tupac soldiers of the same struggle
You lames should huddle, team's shook
Y'all feel the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads
But the Q.B. don't stand for no
word is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all 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, 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 Escobar
You know the kid got his tooth fixed
Hair parted with a preciseness, Bravehearted for life
It's the return of the Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? Y'all awaited the savior
Puffin' that tropical, of that Vodka too
chu', tore up, wake up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do through righteous steps
You thought I was gone, so in light of my death
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of
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 all reppin'
Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my collection, yo

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

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