Got Ur Self A Gun Songtext
von Nas

New York City put your guns up like this
You got yourself a gun (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Got yourself a gun

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)
Who want beef now? (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)
They ain't real (got yourself a gun)

Check it out ya'll
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 BIG
Me and 2Pac (same struggle)

You lames a huddle, your team's shook
Y′all feel the wrath of a (killer), this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads, apparel
But the QB don′t stand for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed-off blast, they all soft
I'm the black hearse that came to haul y'all ass in
This for the hood by the corner (store)
Many try, many (die), come at Nas if you want a war, get it bloody
Yeah, what up New York?

I got mine, I hope you (got yourself a gun)
You from the hood, I hope you (got yourself a gun)
Who want beef now? (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)
They ain′t real (got yourself a gun)


(Yeah, what's your motherfucking name?)
I′m the N, the A to the S-I-R
If I wasn't (I must′ve been Escobar)
You know the kid got his chipped tooth fixed
(Barber's preciseness, Bravehearted)

The return of the golden child, son of a blues player
So who are you? Y′all awaited the true (savior)
Puffin' that tropical, cups of that vodka, too
Papi chu's, tore up (show up in a hospital)

Throw up? Never, now I do it through righteous steps
Judas thought I was gone, so in light of my (death)
They been all happy-go-lucky, bunch of sambos
Call me "God′s son"
I don′t die slow, put them rags up New York
This is NASDAQ though, in my
With this Nas flow what could beat that? Not a soul (reppin')
Hit the record store, never let me, get my whole collection, yeah

(What up New York?)
I got mine (got yourself a gun)
You from the hood (got yourself a gun)
Who want beef now? (Got yourself a gun)
And when I see you I′ma take what I
So you tried to front, hope you (got yourself a gun)
They ain't real (got yourself a gun)

Check it out y′all, it's the return of the prince, the boss
This is real hard, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit soft
Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit soft
Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit soft

Ayo check it out, I′m a old school rap nigga
And there's a lot of old school niggas in the house
You know what I mean?
We live and die for this Hip Hop
I came in the game in 19-what? '91
And I′m still standing out this motherfucker (New York)
So check it out, for all my real niggas out this motherfucker
That go back with me, back in the days when shit was real
Let′s go back to 1994 out this motherfucker