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

My, album had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm crowned the lyricist
years on this professional level
Why you question who's better? The world is still mine
Tattoos real "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with thoughts that
To it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and Tupac soldiers of the same struggle
You lames should huddle, your shook
Y'all feel the wrath of a killer, 'cause is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder 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 black that came to haul y'all ass in
for the hood 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 been
You know the kid got his chipped fixed
Hair parted with a barber's preciseness, for life
It's the of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? Y'all awaited the savior
that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, up in a hospital
up? Never, 'member I do this through righteous steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in of my death
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, of sambos
Call me "God's Son", my pants low
I don't die slow, put rags up like Petey Pablo
This is dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow
Flip the beat back, now it's all
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 and Limp Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, gliss, I floss
Stick shift, look sick up in that Porsche
With the top cut off, rich go and cop The Source
don't know about the blocks I'm on
And everybody want to know the kid go? Where he rest at?
Where he at and dress at?
Know he got dough, where he live? Is he still in the bridge?
he really know how ill that he is?
Got all of y'all watchin' my moves, my watch and my
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
Keepin' it gangsta ya, uh

x2]