Yo, I'm livin' in this time behind enemy lines
I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take what I want
hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
My, first album had no famous
The outcome: I'm crowned the best lyricist
Many years on this professional level
Why would you question who's better?
Tattoos real with "God's Son" across the belly
The boss of rap, you saw me in "Belly"
To take it back to Africa,
Me and Tupac were soldiers
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,
But the Q.B. don't stand for no quarterback
Every word is like a sawed-off blast,
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 hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take what I want
hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
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,
It's the return of the Golden Child,
Y'all awaited the true savior
Puffin' that tropical, cups of that Vodka too
Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a hospital
You Judists thought I was gone,
Y'all been all happy-go-lucky,
Call me "God's Son", with my pants low
put them rags up like Petey Pablo
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) I got mine,
I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take what I want
hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
It's, the, return of the Prince, the boss
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
They don't know about the blocks I'm on
And everybody want to know
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,
Hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like that
ice anything, plenty chains
Look at my tennis shoes, I iced that
The back-twister, lingerie-ripper
Automatic leg-spreader, quicker brain-getter
Keepin' it gangsta wit' ya, uh
I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope you (got yo'self a gun)
I hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
And when I see you I'ma take what I want
hope ya (got yo'self a gun)
You ain't real, hope ya (got yo'self a gun)