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[sample singing]"woke up this mornin', you got yourself a gun, you got yourself a gun"..[chorus] |
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Yo I'm livin' in this time behind enemy lines |
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So I got mine, |
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I hope you ("got yourself a gun") |
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You from the hood, |
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I hope you ("got yourself a gun"You want beef I hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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And when I see you i'ma take what |
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I wantSo you tried to front, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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You ain't real, hope ya ("got yourself a gun")[verse 1] |
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My first album had no famous guest appearances |
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The outcome, |
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I'm was crowned the best lyricist |
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Many years on this professional level |
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Why would you question who's better? |
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The world is still mine, tattoos real |
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With "god's son" across the belly, the boss of rap |
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You saw me in belly with thoughts like that |
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To take it back to africa, |
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I did it with biggie |
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Me and 2pac were soldiers of the same struggle |
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You lames should huddle, your teams shook y'all feel |
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The wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field |
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Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads, apparel |
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But the q.b. don't stand for no quarterback |
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Every word is like a sawed-off blast'cause y'all all soft and |
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I'm the black hearse |
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That came to haul y'all ass in |
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It's for the hood by the corner store |
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Many try, many die, come at nas if you want a war.[chorus][verse 2] |
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I'm the n the a to the s-i-r |
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And if I wasn't |
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I must've been escobar |
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You know the kid got his chipped tooth fixed |
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Hair parted with a barbers preciseness |
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Bravehearted for life, it's - |
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The return of the golden child, son of a blues player |
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So who are you playa? y'all awaited the true savior |
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Puffin' that tropical, cups of that vodka too |
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Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a hospital |
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Throw up? never, 'member |
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I do this through righteous steps |
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You judists thought |
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I was gone, so in light of my death |
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Y'all been all happy go lucky, bunch of sambos |
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Call me gods son, with my pants low |
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I don't die slow, put them rags up like petey pablo |
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This is nasdaq dough, in my nascar with this nas flow, reppin' |
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Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my whole collection.[chorus][verse 3] |
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It's - the - return of the prince, the boss |
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This is real hardcore, kid rock and limp bizkit's soft |
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Sip criss, get chips, wrist gliss, |
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I flossStick shift look sick up in that boxed up porsche |
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With the top cut off, rich kids go and cop the source |
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They don't know about the blocks |
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I'm onAnd everybody wanna know where the kid live, where he rest at? |
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Where he shop at and dress at? |
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Know he got dough, where does he live? |
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Is he still in the bridge? |
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Does he really know how ill that he is? |
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Got all of y'all watchin' my moves |
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My watch and my jewels |
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Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like that |
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It's not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains |
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Look at my tennis shoes, |
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I iced that |
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Who am i? the back twister, lingerie ripper |
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Automatic leg spreader, quicker brain getter |
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Keepin' it gangsta wit' ya[chorus] |
