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 time behind enemy lines so

I got mine, I hope you (got 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 what I want
So, you tried to front, hope ya (got a gun)
You ain't real, ya (got yo'self a gun)

My, first album had no famous guest
The outcome: I'm crowned the best
years on this professional level
Why would you question who's better? The world is still
Tattoos real with "God's Son" 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 were soldiers 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' from a barrel, shoulder pads apparel
But the Q.B. don't stand for no
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all all
And I'm the black hearse came to haul y'all ass in
It's for the 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 tooth fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for
the return of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? Y'all the true savior
that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', up, wake up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this through steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of
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 Nascar with 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, return of the Prince, the
This is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp soft
Sip Cris', get chips, gliss, I floss
Stick shift, sick 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 where the kid go? Where he rest at?
Where he at and dress at?
Know he got dough, where does he live? Is he in the bridge?
Does he know how ill that he is?
Got all of y'all watchin' my moves, my and my jewels
Hop in my coupe, interviews like that
It's not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty
Look at my tennis shoes, I that
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, brain-getter
Keepin' it gangsta ya, uh

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