Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

My took me to Sam Goody's
I wanted to buy a 50 CD
I that shit home
That shit was wack like a
Don't with Game

I like 50
He reminds me
And Yayo is Blues Clues
And Lloyd is Dora the Explorer
my friends

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

300 Bars and
Just loan me your for 15 minutes
with me

Here the breakdown, the doja, .45 in the holster
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, *****z they toy soldiers
Oh, that boy colder than unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but this ain't the
Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a closer
Before you this a diss, and you make Hova pissed
Why I wanna do that? When I'm just the new cat
That was taught if a ***** shots to shoot back
Defending his yard, yeah standing his
I'm saying if you gonna retire, hand me the crown
Nah, let do it, then throw him a concert in Madison square
Watch everybody sleep 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
They say the wrong thing, smack 'em silly
What you thought? was the only *****z that rapped in Philly?
See *****z with the soonies leave you wrapped in Philly
dash in groups like Beanie Mac in Philly
?? said Curtis Jack in
a U-turn, I gotta go back to Philly
I forgot my cheese stake, that's what I told the
So they wouldn't get the dogs start for the glock
And I can't forget, B.I.G. got by the cops
Even I was Ready To Die, when I heard he was shot
What's Beef is when I murk you on the spot
Labels signing many things, still searching for Pac
I put purple on the
So I don't feel threatened when Ludacris say he for the #1 spot
Ask 50, it get on top
You can hate me or me, but now the cops the only homies he got
When it's beef we eat, we win, but we ain't 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 hoping I fall, hope the bleeding
And I hope you out before you see the cops
I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Cedar
What i got in my high tops will your breathing stop
I'm a gangsta rapper, check your CD shop
I'm like Elvis in there, they can't believe he
Now I'm moving on up to George and Weezy's
I picked up where my homeboy Eazy
I saw the coast, put the shit on my back
Sprayed Aftermath on it, loosened the strap
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring hell to *****z when Dre producing a
it to the streets, put the duece duece to your hat
Then call up the pigs, tell them the rooster's
Call Jadakiss, tell him duke is back
I'm still by your side, no matter who strapped
Fuck Banks, it ain't about who can rap
It's about 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, beef is foolish see
*****z their mouth about what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping before I proceed to
And you gon' see the with plans of getting me captured
Even behind bars, I'm still gon'
I'm 10 years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm
Then I go back, ***** I pop mines
How you gon' Olivia, you only drop dimes
I you changed, when you started sleeping in that vest dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my make collect calls
a faggot ***** wig
He got G-Unit wings, them off the Queens Bridge
Now your career is over, is over
We in QB, banging CNN in the
T-O-N-Y, that's the NORE
You the talk of New York, your sixteens is boring
Take that off lingo, go back to PC
And tell 50 Cent you a copy of Beef 3
I'm airing ass out on DVD
You rhyme like Lloyd Banks repeat after me
I'm a toy soldier
On Sesame street voice overs
Bitch ass ***** need a rhyme dictionary, to his lines
Sound like Oscar the Grouch, with nursery rhymes
We was in the studio, when I got signed
He got stuck, he 50 tryna borrow some lines
That's the wrong *****, when you need help with rhymes
All he tell you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad 'cause I ain't make your beef mine
You got lucky with Ja, why you aint go at
He from the pen, that's just the fact
Said he'd put you with your mom, and you fucked with that
Then you lied your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Father, Like Son, go ask Busta that
I knew the beginning not to trust those cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I could bring Justo
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I it like home
It's the reason *****z my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason *****z saying my name like Mike
I
The underground is mine, I treat it like
It's the reason *****z saying my like Mike Jones
And I'm far Houston but you can chop it and screw it
Do whatever to it, but it in the store the shit
Gave 'em a hundred bars, ain't think I could do it
with two hundred, ***** this is more than music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like
Both in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin
And I beef with any *****, say my name I'm gunnin'
You can put it on if you want it
I'll air you out on King, Mike, or Clue
And them shits sell out like a Air Jordon shoe
I told Flex when I catch the ***** Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he know how to DJ bruised ribs
hit me on the sidekick asking what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's to use his
Bloods gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods Bloods gonna get ya for that Shadyville
That 380 spill brains, when I pop
Outside NY, in front of hip-hop
Or broad day in L.A., tell Em and Dre
This bootlegging my music, ain't nothing for him to say
me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes
So I'ma him out his house, put the beam on his face
Drop him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the
when you fucking with Jayceon, you can believe in L.A.
For off *****z on them CD's and tapes
Ask them to scratch a record, you will see he
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cake
the DJ off your name, Mr. Instant replay
Not the instant
I mean the machine that G-Unit use time 50 on stage singing like
only feel your shit just a lil bit
*****z only feel your shit a lil bit
On my album 50 me just a lil bit
Only on two songs, now back to some shit
My clips bananas, I kill a gorilla
on your chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell to make him a suit
Tell Reebock to make him boots
Get him a band, to cover the holes in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can through muddy waters like Redman
Banks blacked out and let the gun blam a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the lieutenant gotta ask for his
Take my advice, never air max for the pen
you one of the Bloods, or a latin king
'cause if your with the Aryans your ass will sting
And your cell is a 25 to lifer
They'll stab you at then fuck you on Rikers
And Goes On
Now back to the coward of the who lied and said he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was gonna leave me on the
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept for yourself
stop acting tough before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The
Make a I'm blasting your ass to the last one
Ten from the Mack empty the rest in the passenger
Fase yelling enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and the doors on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase I'm locin' backing up
Reverse the '05 hurse on and traffic, what
Hip-Hop on my left, but I pass 'em up
The Dodge got a hemmy in it, Game got a in 'em
In and out of like a New York cab
I'm Mr. Ol' King, that New cab
Who's this fake *****, on pictures with the Jake
Got his crew starving he aint the whole cake, *****
He ain't Nas, B.I.G., ain't Jigga
If he Cube or Pac then who you got?
We getting tired of you talkin about who you
use another six bars to tell you who you not
You 50 Cent, he went out like a gangsta
You went out with Vivica, three months after
Get or Die Tryin, we thought you was hot
Now the ***** wanna take us to the Candy Shop
C'mon man, happened to the thug?
Now you could in the club, him and Lloyd Banks hugging
got mad when The Game start buzzing
So fuck making friends now I'm throwing slugs
talking about we a family, Game had to go
***** I'll smack 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 G-Unit
Don't you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your group
Just sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can back to the block
Fresh Nike airs and the matching socks fitted

Pull the brim low, if don't get it
Bentley Coup on gold daytons, I was the first one it
Four times platinum, I done there and did it
Came in the game and shitted, then wiped my ass it
They say the givth, if Lord take it away
So I build a house on top of Hip-Hop, wait for the day
*****z hating on me, they don't want to play
And the DA waiting on Jayceon to make a
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 too hot, and I want the winter to stay
I'm a cold ***** when I put the pen to the page
Similar to them going into my gauge
I 'em off to Dre, he turned them into granades
And Blaze, 'cause the boy got game
Like I my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain
Now to reality, my gun and my vest
And if diamonds are forever, then I'm West
a look at my chest, a hundred thou at jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred can't break 'em
And the is hot like that wit Satan
And the only I got spinning is Daytons
The hotter I get the willing to snake 'em
So as the beat drop, watch where I take 'em
Swap meet, to get me some All-Stars
When Game in the house, callin all cars
'cause they heard about what on in D.C.
Heard Hot 97, my beef with 50

Now me do he got a conscience?
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in this
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this
I'd rather be rock, like Samantha Ronson
50 whispered in my ear, like we still
We friends, I'm just acting like Charles Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one hand on my
Hip-Hop on me like I'm the convict
What to the old school? I thought it was rhyming
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 still shine like
They kicked me out of G-Unit and I rebounded 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
on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prison
Dollar vision, blow a thou like my wallet missing
Then re-up like kid before the
Continuously getting money with my up
Chasing the throne, here my Air Force
I said fuck 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 muthafucka move
While I do B.I.G. and impersonations on two tracks
When I wake the dead, remove hats
We ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap, why I gotta stay
On that murder T-I-P, kill you
They won't know which hole to up, when the K clap
I tried to spare you Young Buck, now it's for payback
It go, how you from but you ain't got no cash nigga?
Say my now that's your fucking ass nigga
Kept your shut and I gave you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down like the last
Buck, buck, from my AK-47
This nigga with his life, I might have to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, shit up on the stereo
Prepare for burial, when I'm reincarnating Harry-O
And you want that David 'cause you love your life
Get my Vibe, when it's war he out butter knifes
Muthafucka I'ma show you who the
All you do is Murder Inc., now who the
When Suge had you, you were on Tha Row
Juve left you for dead and back to the NO
50 you on the tour bus and felt your little flow
Then he you temporary replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and hard to swallow
And you got robbed for your spinning chain in Chicago
I call my Jojo to get it back
He had the shit in his hands, and you ain't had the ten
Picture that, I thought we was
Then you ran and 50 that I did that shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy hard to find
I told Monica when I catch him The Boy is
one shot of Brandy and pop
Watch his panties drop, I run inside the Candy Shop
you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the cops
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 sheet rock
Don't worry about the flow, the boy he hot
in store 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 need three
280 in, ain't no getting me
I'm yelling fuck the world, on my 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, body exhausted, in peace
You don't want war nigga, you want
So give 'em the peace, (sp?)
Let 'em rest in
From west to east the is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm with Satan
And I slipped 'em the ace, you cannot 'em
If ever decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A king in the making, and the is for the taking
So I the mountain top and put my stake in
Got the weight of the on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat can stop me from taking it over
This is crack music, go get the soda
300 Bars and Runnin, nigga the is over
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone