Kunci: D minor
Verse 1
Am
Woke up this mornin' (yeah)
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)
You want beef, I hope you
(got yourself a gun)
Dm
And when I see you I'ma
take what I want
Am
So you tried to front, hope you (got your
self a gun)
You ain't real, hope you
(got yourself a gun)
Verse 2
Am
My first album had no famous
guest appearances
Bb
Am
The outcome: I'm crowned
Bb
Am
the best lyricist
Many years on this
professional level
Em
Am
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 Biggie
Dm
Me and 2Pac were soldiers
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
Every word is like a sawed- off
blast 'cause y'all all soft
And 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!
Verse 3
Am
I got mine, I hope you
(got yourself a gun)
You from the hood,
I hope you (got yourself a gun)
You want beef, I hope you
(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)
You ain't real,
Dm
hope you (got yourself a gun)
Am
Yo, I'm
Verse 4
the N, the A to the S- I- R
And if I wasn't,
I must've been Escobar
Bb
Am
You know the kid got
his chipped tooth fixed
Hair parted with a, barber's
preciseness
Bravehearted for life, it's
The return of the Golden Child,
son of a blues player
So who are you,
player? Y'all awaited the true savior
Puffin' that tropical,
cups of that vodka, too
Am
Throw up? Never! 'Member I do
this through righteous steps
You Judas thought I was gone,
so in light of my death
Y'all been all happy- go- lucky,
Am
Call me "God's Son" with my pants low
I don't die slow,
Bb
put them rags up like Petey Pablo
F
Am
Bb
This is NASDAQ though,
Am
in my Nascar, with this Nas flow
What could beat that? Not a soul reppin'
Hit the record store, never let me go,
get my whole collection, yo
Verse 5
Am
I got mine, I hope you (got yourself
a gun)
You from the hood,
I hope you (got yourself a gun)
You want beef,
I hope you (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)
Dm
You ain't real, hope you
(got yourself a gun)
Am
It's, the, return of the prince,
Verse 6
the boss
Bbm
Fm
This is real hardcore,
Am
Bbm
Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit soft
Am
Bbm
wrist glist' – I floss
Am
Stick- shift look sick up in that
Boxster Porsche
With the top cut off,
Fm
Am
rich kids go and cop The Source
Fm
Am
They don't know about
the blocks I'm on
Bbm
Am
And every body wanna know
where the kid go
Where he rest at,
Am
where he shop at and dress at
where does he live? Is he still in the Bridge?
Fm
Does he really know how ill that he is?
Got all of y'all watchin' my moves,
my watch and my jewels
Hop in my coupe,
Am
dodge interviews like that
It's not only my jewels,
ice anything, plenty chains
Am
Look at my tennis shoes, I iced that
Am
Who am I? The back twister
, lingerie ripper
Automatic leg- spreader,
quicker brain- getter
Keepin' it gangsta with ya
(uhh)
I got mine, I hope you (got yourself a gun)
Verse 7
You from the hood,
I hope you (got yourself a gun)
You want beef,
I hope you (got yourself a gun)
And when I see you I'ma
take what I want
Am
So you tried to front,
hope you (got yourself a gun)
You ain't real,
hope you (got yourself a gun)
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