\"Woke up this mornin\', you got yourself a gun,you got yourself a gun..\"[Chorus]\nYo I\'m livin\' in this time behind enemy lines\nso I got mine, I hope you (\"got yourself a gun\")\nYou from the hood, I hope you (\"got yourself a gun\"\nyou want beef I hope ya (\"got yourself a gun\")\nAnd when I see you I\'ma take what I want\nso you tried to front, hope ya (\"got yourself a gun\")You ain\'t real, hope ya (\"got yourself a gun\")\n\n[Verse 1]\nMy first album had no famous guest appearances\nthe outcome, I\'m was crowned the best lyricist\nmany years on this professional level\nwhy would you question who\'s better?\nthe World is still mine, tattoos real\nwith \"God\'s Son\" across the belly,the boss of rap\nyou saw me in Belly with thoughts like that\nto take it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie\nMe and 2Pac were soldiers of the same struggle\nYou lames should huddle, your teams shook y\'all feel\nthe wrath of a killer, \'cause this is my football field\nThrowin\' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads, apparel\nbut the Q.B. don\'t stand for no quarterback\nevery word is like a sawed-off blast\n\'cause y\'all all soft and I\'m the black hearse\nthat came to haul y\'all ass in\nit\'s for the hood by the corner store\nmany try, many die, come at Nas if you want a war.\n\n[Chorus]\n\n[Verse 2]\nI\'m the N theA to the S-I-R\nand If I wasn\'t I must\'ve been Escobar\nyou know the kid got his chipped tooth fixed\nHair parted with a barbers preciseness\nBravehearted for life, it\'s -\nthe return of the Golden Child, son of a blues player\nso who are you playa? y\'all awaited the true savior\npuffin\' that tropical, cups of that Vodka too\nPapi chu\', tore up, wake up in a hospital\nThrow up? never, \'member I do this through righteous steps\nyou Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my death\ny\'all been all happy go lucky, bunch of sambos\ncall me Gods Son, with my pants low\nI don\'t die slow, put them rags up likePetey Pablo\nthis is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow, reppin\'\nhit the record sto\', never let me go, get my whole collection.\n\n[Chorus]\n\n[Verse 3]\nIt\'s - the - return of the Prince, the boss\nthis is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit\'s soft\nsip criss, get chips, wrist gliss, I flossstick shift look sick up in that boxed up Porschewith the top cut off, rich kids go and cop the sourcethey don\'t know about the blocks I\'m onand everybody wanna know where the kid live, 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 movesmy watch and my jewelshop in my coupe, dodge interviews like thatIt\'s not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty chainsLook at my tennis shoes, I iced thatWho am I? the back twister, lingerie ripperautomatic leg spreader, quicker brain getterkeepin\' it gangsta wit\' ya HipHop