Nas - Got Ur Self A Gun lyrics

[Produced by Megahertz] [Intro - Sample] Woke up this mornin' You got yourself a gun You got yourself a gun [Hook] Yo, I'm living in this time behind enemy lines So, I got mine, I hope you (got yourself a gun) You from the hood, I hope you (got yourself a gun) You want beef, I hope you (got yourself a gun) And when I see you I'ma take what I want So you tried to front, hope you (got yourself a gun) You ain't real, hope you (got yourself a gun) [Verse 1] My first album had no famous guest appearances The outcome: I'm crowned the best lyricist Many years on this professional level Why would you question who's better? The world is still mine Tattoo's real, with "God's Son" across the belly, the boss of rap You saw me in Belly with thoughts like that To take it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie Me and 2Pac were soldiers of the same struggle You lames a huddle, your teams shook, y'all feel The wrath of a k**er, ‘cause this is my football field Throwing pa**es from a barrel, shoulder pads, apparel But the QB don't stand for no quarterback Every word is like a sawed-off blast ‘cause y'all all soft And I'm the black hearse that came to haul y'all a** in It's for the hood by the corner store. Many try, many die Come at Nas if you want a war, get it bloody [Hook] [Verse 2] I'm the N, the A to the S-I-R And If I wasn't, I must've been Escobar You know the kid got his chipped tooth fixed, hair parted with a barber's preciseness, Bravehearted for life, it's The return of the Golden Child, son of a blues player So who are you, player? Y'all awaited the true savior Puffin' that tropical, cups of that vodka, too Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a hospital Throw up? Never! 'Member I do this through righteous steps You Judas thought I was gone, so in light of my d**h Y'all been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of sambos Call me "God's Son" with my pants low I don't die slow, put them rags up like Petey Pablo This is Nasdaq though, in my Nascar With this Nas flow, what could beat that? Not a soul reppin' Hit the record store, never let me go, get my whole collection [Hook] [Verse 3] It's the return of the prince, the boss This is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit soft Sip Cris, get chips, wrist glist – I floss Stick-shift look sick up in that Boxster Porsche With the top cut off, rich kids go and cop The Source They don't know about the blocks I'm on And everybody wanna know where the kid go Where he rest at, where he shop at and dress at Know he got dough, where does he live? Is he still in the Bridge? Does he really know how ill that he is? Got all of y'all watching my moves, my watch and my j**els Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like that It's not only my j**els, ice anything, plenty chains Look at my tennis shoes, I iced that Who am I? The back twister, lingerie ripper Automatic leg-spreader, quicker brain-getter Keepin' it gangsta with ya [Hook]