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Artist :Nas
Title :

Got Yourself a Gun


(sample singing)
Woke up this mornin', you got yourself a gun, you got yourself a gun
..

[Chorus]
Yo I'm livin' 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 ya ("got yourself a gun")
And when I see you I'ma take what I want
so you tried to front
hope ya ("got yourself a gun")
You ain't real
hope ya ("got yourself a gun")

[Verse 1]
My first album had no famous guest appearances
the outcome
I'm was crowned the best lyricist
many years on this professional level
why would you question who's better?
the World is still mine
tattoos 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 should huddle
your teams shook y'all feel
the wrath of a killer
'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel
shoulder pads
apparel
but the Q.B. 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 ass in
it's for the hood by the corner store
many try
many die
come at Nas if you want a war.

[Chorus]

[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 barbers preciseness
Bravehearted for life
it's -

the return of the Golden Child
son of a blues player
so who are you playa? 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 Judists thought I was gone
so in light of my death
y'all been all happy go lucky
bunch of sambos
call me Gods Son
with my pants low
I don't die slow
put them rags up like Petey Pablo
this is Nasdaq dough
in my Nascar with this Nas flow
reppin'
hit the record sto'
never let me go
get my whole collection.

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
It's - the - return of the Prince
the boss
this is real hardcore
Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit's soft
sip criss
get chips
wrist gliss
I floss
stick shift look sick up in that boxed up 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 live
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 watchin' my moves
my watch and my jewels
hop in my coupe
dodge interviews like that
It's not only my jewels
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 wit' ya

[Chorus]


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