Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

My mama me to Sam Goody's
I to buy a 50 Cent CD
I took shit home
That shit was wack a muthafucka
Don't with Game

I like 50
He reminds me
And Tony Yayo is Clues
And Banks is Dora the Explorer
They're my

I went one of them Bodaga shits right there in Harlem
Got me a bootleg Lloyd Banks and Young CD
that shit home, put it in my boom box
Thought I was to be on some radio Raheim shit
Man that shit sound like Vanessa Williams '88
I Olivia cute but they say that bitch a man
So this Black for life now
GGG-UNOT!

300 and Runnin
Just loan me ears for 15 minutes
Walk me

Here the breakdown, the doja, .45 in the holster
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them *****z they toy
Oh, that boy colder than Hova unless he
Like I'm the president, but ain't the takeover
Now, there's the speaker, bring ears a little closer
Before you call this a diss, and you make Hova
Why would I wanna do that? When I'm the new cat
That was taught if a ***** shots to shoot back
Defending his yard, yeah his ground
I'm saying if you gonna retire, hand me the crown
Nah, let Bleek do it, then throw him a concert in square
Watch sleep through it
We can go bar for bar, I'll let the lines to 'em
What they say? Bleek is let Chris and Neef do it
say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em silly
What you thought? Them was the only that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z with the soonies leave you wrapped in
Then dash in like Beanie Mac in Philly
?? Curtis Jack in Philly
Make a U-turn, I gotta go to Philly
I forgot my cheese stake, that's I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the dogs start searching for the
And I forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the cops
Even I was Ready To Die, when I that he was shot
What's beef? is when I murk you on the spot
Labels signing things, still searching for they Pac
I put on the block
So I don't feel threatened Ludacris say he coming for the #1 spot
Ask 50, it get on top
You can hate me or love me, but now the cops the only he got
When it's beef we eat, we win, but we lonely we pop
You sell but a GGG-u not!
big on the radio, to me you not
You can ask Mr. CCC who hot
Tony Yayo I bet 10 G's you
Run up on new 300 C you got
Stop I fall, hope the bleeding stop
And I hope you black out you see the cops
I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Block
What i got in my high tops make your breathing stop
I'm a slash rapper, check your CD shop
I'm like Elvis in there, they can't believe he
Now I'm on up to George and Weezy's spot
I picked up where my Eazy stopped
I saw the west coast, put the shit on my
Sprayed Aftermath on it, loosened the strap
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring hell to when Dre producing a track
it to the streets, put the duece duece to your hat
Then up the pigs, tell them the rooster's back
Call Jadakiss, tell him that duke is
I'm still by your side, no matter who strapped
Fuck Lloyd Banks, it ain't who can rap
It's when the ruger clap, is rufus back
I see you thinkin, you want me to die, is that so?
Now you left back, thanks to Fat Joe
You got in heaven, you ready? Let's go
Drop off, then pop cristal wit Esko
I'm a say he hit me first, if me and Dre
All Nas said was he had a 3-4
Now that's the eulogy, is kinda foolish see
*****z their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping I proceed to clapping
And you see the captain with plans of getting me captured
Even behind bars, I'm still shine
I'm 10 years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm
Then I go right back, ***** I pop
How you drop Olivia, you only drop dimes
I knew you changed, when you started sleeping in vest dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my *****z collect calls
1-800-split a faggot wig
He got G-Unit wings, them off the Queens Bridge
Now career is over, career is over
We in QB, banging CNN in the
T-O-N-Y, that's the NORE
You ain't the talk of New York, sixteens is boring
that shit off lingo, go back to PC
And tell 50 Cent you want a copy of 3
I'm airing ass out on DVD
You wanna rhyme Lloyd Banks repeat after me
I'm a toy soldier
On Sesame doing voice overs
Bitch ass ***** need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his
Sound Oscar the Grouch, with them nursery rhymes
We was in the studio, I first got signed
He got stuck, he called 50 tryna some lines
That's the wrong *****, when you need help with your
All he gon' tell you is say one more time
Got mad 'cause I wanna make your beef mine
You got lucky Ja, why you aint go at Shyne?
He from the pen, that's just the fact
Said he'd put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with
you lied about your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Like Father, Like Son, go ask Busta
I from the beginning not to trust those cats
I'd 'em all, if I could bring Justo back
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the *****z saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name like Jones
I
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my like Mike Jones
And I'm far from Houston but you can it and screw it
Do whatever to it, but it in the the shit moving
Gave 'em a bars, they ain't think I could do it
Came two hundred, ***** this is more than music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like
feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin
And I beef any *****, say my name muthafuck I'm gunnin'
You can put it on skee if you it
I'll air you out on Drama King, Mike, or
And them shits sell out like a Air Jordon shoe
I Funk Flex when I catch the ***** Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he how to DJ with bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the sidekick asking you did
Get a gun or ask police to use his
'cause gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods Bloods get ya for that Shadyville chain
That 380 spill brains, I pop shots
NY, in front of hip-hop cops
Or broad day in L.A., tell Em and Dre
This bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to say
Took me off my own songs, then put it on his
So take him out his house, put the beam on his face
him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakes
'cause when you fucking with Jayceon, you can in L.A.
For off *****z on them CD's and tapes
Ask them to a record, you will see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cake
Take the DJ off name, Mr. Instant replay
Not the instant
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on singing like
Bitches only feel your shit a lil bit
*****z only your shit just a lil bit
On my album 50 helped me a lil bit
Only on two songs, now back to some shit
My clips bananas, I a gorilla quick
Beating on your chest, I see to death, yep
Tell Ecko to him a suit
Reebock to make him some boots
Get him a head band, to the holes in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can walk through muddy like Redman
Banks blacked out and let the gun without a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the gotta ask for his strings
my advice, never wear air max for the pen
Unless you one of the Bloods, or a king
'cause if your left with the Aryans ass will sting
And your mate is a 25 to lifer
They'll you at Folsom then fuck you on Rikers
And Goes On
Now back to the coward of the hour who lied and said he my songs
He told Dre was gonna leave me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept them for
***** acting tough before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The
Make a move I'm blasting your ass to the one
Ten from the Mack empty the rest in the passenger
Fase thats enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and lift the on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase I'm locin' backing up
the '05 hurse on 41st and traffic, what
Hip-Hop cops on my left, but I 'em up
The got a hemmy in it, Game got a Remy in 'em
In and out of like a New York cab
I'm Mr. Ol' King, that New cab
this fake *****, on pictures with the Jake *****?
Got his starving 'cause he aint the whole cake, *****
He ain't Nas, ain't B.I.G., Jigga
If he ain't Cube or Pac who you got?
We getting of you talkin about who you shot
I'll use another six to tell you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he went out a gangsta
You went out with Vivica, three after wanksta
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we you was hot
Now the same ***** wanna take us to the Shop
C'mon man, what to the thug?
Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd Banks
***** got mad The Game start buzzing
So fuck making now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia talking about we a family, had to go
***** smack that ho like I'm Jackie-O
I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna shake hands, or wear your shoes
want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your group
Just wanna sit here and
To be gone, so I can head to the block
Fresh Nike airs and the matching socks fitted

Pull the brim low, if don't get it
Bentley Coup on daytons, I was the first one with it
times platinum, I done been there and did it
Came in the game and shitted, wiped my ass with it
They say the Lord givth, if Lord take it
So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, I'll for the day
hating on me, they don't want Jayceon to play
And the DA waiting on to make a mistake
So can put me in the squad car and lock me away
me a odd job in the pen for minimum pay
Let me out so I can drive down way
Pushing the rock, nah this ain't no Jay
The summer too hot, and I want the winter to
'cause I'm a ***** when I put the pen to the page
Similar to shells going into my gauge
I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them into
And Just Blaze, the boy got game
Like I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc
Now back to reality, my gun and my
And if are forever, then I'm Kanye West
Take a at my chest, a hundred thou at jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred thou can't 'em
And the flow is hot like that wit
And the only thing I got is Daytons
The hotter I get the more to snake 'em
So as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em
Compton Swap meet, to get me All-Stars
When Game in the house, they all cars
'cause they about what went on in D.C.
Heard about Hot 97, my with 50

Now me do he got a conscience?
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in nonsense
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at conference
I'd rather be rock, like Samantha Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, we still bonding
We friends, I'm just acting like Charles Bronson
Middle in the air, one hand on my Johnson
police on me like I'm the convict
What happened to the old school? I thought it was
Doug E. Fresh and Daina Dane on the corner Common
Now that ain't common, it's more Top Ramen
The is noodles, I throw it up like vomit
And I shine like diamonds
They kicked me out of G-Unit and I like Rodman
still Aftermath, two feet in the paint shit.
I be mad, I ain't, I'm supposed to stop I can't
I'm in the hood politican, Impala
And I keep a black .45 on the side of my prada
Chip on my like I'm fresh outta prison
vision, blow a hundred thou like my wallet missing
Then like kid before the d-cup
getting money with my feet up
Chasing the throne, my black Air Force
I fuck Benzino and got the cover of The Source
Feel me? If not then I guess you gotta me
But you ain't gon' do that so move back
While I do B.I.G. and 'Pac on two tracks
When I wake the dead, everybody remove
We miss ya'll, can I get a hand
Now back to rap, why I gotta stay
On murder T-I-P, kill you ASAP
They won't know which hole to up, when the K clap
I tried to spare you Young Buck, now time for payback
It go, how you from but you ain't got no cash nigga?
Say my name now your fucking ass nigga
Kept your mouth shut and I you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down like the last
Buck, buck, buck my AK-47
This nigga playing with his life, I might to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, shit up on the stereo
Prepare for burial, it's when I'm Harry-O
And you don't want that 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe, when war he pull out butter knifes
Muthafucka show you who the gangsta
All you do is Murder Inc., now who the
Suge had you, you were stranded on Tha Row
Juve left you for and went back to the NO
50 heard you on the tour bus and felt your flow
Then he made you replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and that's hard to
And you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit in Chicago
I call my nigga Jojo to get it
He had the shit in his hands, and you ain't had the ten
Picture that, I we was G-Unit
Then you ran and told 50 that I did that
Ask C-Murder, the boy hard to find
I told Monica when I catch him The Boy is
Take one shot of and pop
Watch his panties drop, I run inside the Candy Shop
Fuck you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the
And Olivia, I for a man she hot
Now I'm out of breath, like I just beat boxed
Got 20 bars to go, lay it down like sheet
Don't worry about the flow, the boy he hot
Hurricanes in November, nigga fuck Reebocks
I'm fly like a Hummingbird on a top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I three spots
280 in, no getting me back
I'm yelling the world, on my victory lap
Remember first it was Buddens, it was Bleek
Now it's whoever muthafucka, yeah, who want
Now whenever muthafucka, who see me?
In the coffin, exhausted, resting in peace
You don't want war nigga, you peace
So 'em the peace, capiche (sp?)
Let 'em in peace
From west to east the flow is outdatable,
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing with
And I 'em the ace, you cannot replace 'em
If ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A king in the making, and the throne is for the
So I climb the top and put my stake in
Got the weight of the on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat bitch can me from taking it over
This is music, go get the baking soda
300 Bars and Runnin, nigga the is over
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone