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 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 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, ya (got yo'self a gun)

My, first album had no famous guest
The outcome: I'm crowned the best
Many years on professional level
Why would you question who's better? The world is mine
real with "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" with like that
To take it back to Africa, I did it Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the same
You lames should huddle, your team's
Y'all feel the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football
Throwin' passes from a barrel, pads 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 hearse that came to haul y'all ass in
It's for the hood by the 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 been Escobar
You the kid got his chipped tooth fixed
parted with a barber's 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
Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this righteous steps
You Judists thought I was gone, so in 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 dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow
Flip the beat back, now it's all
Hit the sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo

It's, the, return of the Prince, the
is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, gliss, I floss
Stick shift, look sick up in that Boxter
With the top cut off, rich kids go and cop The
They know about the blocks I'm on
And everybody want to know where the kid go? he rest at?
Where he at and dress at?
Know he got dough, where he live? Is he still in the bridge?
Does he really know how ill he is?
Got all of y'all my moves, my watch and my jewels
Hop in my coupe, interviews like that
It's not only my jewels, ice anything, chains
at my tennis shoes, I iced that
Who am I? The back-twister,
Automatic leg-spreader, quicker
it gangsta wit' ya, uh

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