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Got Ur Self A Gun

This song is by Nas.

Woke up this mornin', yeah
You got ur self a gun, yeah, yeah, yeah
Got ur self a gun
Yo, I'm livin' in this time behind enemy lines

So I got mine, I hope you got ur self a gun
You from the hood, I hope you got ur self a gun
You want beef? Hope ya got ur self a gun
An' when I see you, I'ma take what I want
So you tried to front, hope ya got ur self a gun
You ain't real, hope ya got ur self a gun

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 an' 2Pac 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
An' 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

I got mine, I hope you got ur self a gun
You from the hood, I hope you got ur self a gun
You want beef? Hope ya got ur self a gun
An' when I see you, I'ma take what I want
So you tried to front, hope ya got ur self a gun
You ain't real, hope ya got ur self a gun

Yo, I'm the N, the A to the S I R
An' 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, brave hearted 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 '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 store, never let me go, get my whole collection, yo

I got mine, I hope you got ur self a gun
You from the hood, I hope you got ur self a gun
You want beef? Hope ya got ur self a gun
An' when I see you, I'ma take what I want
So you tried to front, hope ya got ur self a gun
You ain't real, hope ya got ur self a gun

It's the return of the Prince, the boss
This is real hardcore, Kid Rock an' Limp Bizkit's soft
Sip Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I floss
Stick shift, look sick up in that Boxster Porsche

With the top cut off, rich kids go an' cop The Source
They don't know about the blocks I'm on
An' everybody wanna know where the kid go?
Where he rest at? Where he shop at an' 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 an' 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

I got mine, I hope you got ur self a gun
You from the hood, I hope you got ur self a gun
You want beef? Hope ya got ur self a gun
An' when I see you, I'ma take what I want
So you tried to front, hope ya got ur self a gun
You ain't real, hope ya got ur self a gun, got ur self a gun

I got mine, I hope you got ur self a gun
You from the hood, I hope you got ur self a gun
You want beef? Hope ya got ur self a gun
An' when I see you, I'ma take what I want
So you tried to front, hope ya got ur self a gun

Credits

Written by:

Jake Black; Chester Burnett; Simon Edwards; Nasir Jones; Rob Marsh; Piers Spragg; Dorsey Wesley

External links

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