Got Ur Self A... lyrics

Artist  : Nas 
Song : Got Ur Self A...



 Send "Got Ur Self A..." Ringtone to your Cell 

 [Intro] 
Woke up this mornin`, (yeah) 
You got yo`self a gun (yeah, yeah, yeah) 
Got yo`self a gun 
 
[Nas] 
Yo, I`m livin` in this time behind enemy lines 
So... 
 
[Chorus] 
I got mine, I hope you (got yo`self a gun) 
You from the hood I hope you (got yo`self a gun) 
You want beef? I hope ya (got yo`self a gun) 
And when I see you I`ma take what I want 
So, you tried to front, hope ya (got yo`self a
gun) 
You ain`t real, hope ya (got yo`self 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 
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 Tupac were soldiers of the same struggle 
You lames should huddle, your team`s 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, get it bloody, uh 
 
[Chorus] 
 
[Verse 2] 
Yo, 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
blue`s 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 "God`s 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 
Flip the beat back, now it`s all reppin` 
Hit the record sto`, never let me go, get my
whole collection, yo 
 
[Chorus] 
 
[Verse 3] 
It`s, the, return of the Prince, the boss 
This is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit`s
soft 
Sip Cris`, get chips, wrist gliss, I floss 
Stick shift, look sick up in that Boxter 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 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, uh 
 
[Chorus 2x]