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 enemy lines so

I got mine, I hope you (got a gun)
You from the I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
You beef? I hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
And I see you I'ma 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, album had no famous guest appearances
The outcome: I'm the best lyricist
Many on this professional level
Why you question who's better? The world is still mine
Tattoos with "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly" thoughts like that
To take it back to Africa, I did it Biggie
Me and Tupac were soldiers of the struggle
You lames should huddle, team's shook
Y'all feel the of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads
But the Q.B. don't for no quarterback
word is like a sawed-off blast, 'cause y'all all soft
And I'm the black hearse that came to y'all ass in
It's for the 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 preciseness, Bravehearted for life
It's the of the Golden Child, son of a blue's player
So who are you playa? awaited the true savior
Puffin' tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, up in a hospital
Throw up? Never, 'member I do this through righteous
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 them rags up Petey Pablo
This is dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow
Flip the beat back, now it's all
Hit the record sto', let me go, get my whole collection, yo

It's, the, return of the Prince, the
This is hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I
Stick shift, look sick up in that Porsche
With the top cut off, kids go and cop The Source
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 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, dodge interviews like
It's not my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my tennis shoes, I that
Who am I? The back-twister,
leg-spreader, quicker brain-getter
Keepin' it gangsta ya, uh

x2]