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"Woke up this mornin', you got yourself a gun, you got yourself a gun".. |
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Yo I'm livin' in this time behind enemy lines |
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so I got mine, I hope you ("got yourself a gun") |
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You from the hood, I hope you ("got yourself a gun" |
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you want beef I hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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And when I see you I'ma take what I want |
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so you tried to front, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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You ain't real, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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My first album had no famous guest appearances |
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the outcome, 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, 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 |
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'cause y'all all soft and 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. |
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I got mine, I hope you ("got yourself a gun") |
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You from the hood, I hope you ("got yourself a gun" |
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you want beef I hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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And when I see you I'ma take what I want |
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so you tried to front, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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You ain't real, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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I'm the N the A to the S-I-R |
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and If I wasn't 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 I do this through righteous steps |
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you Judists thought 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. |
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I got mine, I hope you ("got yourself a gun") |
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You from the hood, I hope you ("got yourself a gun" |
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you want beef I hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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And when I see you I'ma take what I want |
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so you tried to front, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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You ain't real, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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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, I floss |
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stick shift look sick up in that boxsta 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 I'm on |
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and 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, 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 |
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I got mine, I hope you ("got yourself a gun") |
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You from the hood, I hope you ("got yourself a gun" |
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you want beef I hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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And when I see you I'ma take what I want |
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so you tried to front, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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You ain't real, hope ya ("got yourself a gun") |
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