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[Intro]
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Woke up this mornin', (yeah)
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You got yo'self a gun (yeah, yeah, yeah)
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Got yo'self a gun
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[Nas]
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Yo, I'm livin' in this time behind enemy lines
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So...
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[Chorus]
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I got mine, I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
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You from the hood I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
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You want beef? I hope ya (got yo'self 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 yo'self a gun)
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You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
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[Verse 1]
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My, first album had no famous guest appearances
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The outcome: I'm 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? The world is still mine
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Tattoos real with "God's Son" across the belly
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The boss of rap, 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 Tupac were soldiers of the same struggle
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You lames should huddle, your team's shook
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Y'all feel 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, 'cause y'all all soft
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And I'm the black hearse 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, get it bloody, uh
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[Chorus]
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[Verse 2]
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Yo, 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 barber's preciseness; Bravehearted for life
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It's the return of the Golden Child, son of a blue's 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 "God's 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
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Flip the beat back, now it's all reppin'
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Hit the record sto', never let me go, get my whole collection, yo
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[Chorus]
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[Verse 3]
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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 Cris', get chips, wrist gliss, I floss
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Stick shift, look sick up in that Boxter 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 go? 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? 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, 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, uh
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[Chorus 2x]
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-----------------
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Got Ur Self A...
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| Nas |
