[sample singing]   "Woke up this mornin', you got yourself a gun, you got   yourself a gun"..      [Chorus]   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 ya ("got yourself a gun")   And when I see you I'ma take what I want   so you tried to front, hope ya ("got yourself a gun")   You ain't real, hope ya ("got yourself a gun")      [Verse 1]   My first album had no famous guest appearances   the outcome, I'm was crowned the best lyricist   many years on this professional level   why would you question who's better?   the World is still mine, tattoos 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   Me and 2Pac were soldiers of the same struggle   You lames should huddle, your teams shook y'all feel   the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field    Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads, apparel   but the Q.B. don't stand for no quarterback   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.      [Chorus]      [Verse 2]   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 barbers preciseness   Bravehearted for life, it's -    the return of the Golden Child, son of a blues player   so who are you playa? y'all awaited the true savior   puffin' that tropical, cups of that Vodka too   Papi chu', tore up, wake up in a hospital   Throw up? never, 'member I do this through righteous steps   you Judists thought I was gone, so in light of my death   y'all been all happy go lucky, bunch of sambos   call me Gods Son, with my pants low   I don't die slow, put them rags up like Petey Pablo   this is Nasdaq dough, in my Nascar with this Nas flow, reppin'   hit the record sto', never let me go, get my whole collection.      [Chorus]      [Verse 3]   It's - the - return of the Prince, the boss   this is real hardcore, Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit's soft   sip criss, get chips, wrist gliss, I floss   stick shift look sick up in that boxed up Porsche   with the top cut off, rich kids go and cop the source   they don't know about the blocks I'm on   and 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 moves   my watch and my jewels   hop in my coupe, dodge interviews like that   It's not only my jewels, ice anything, plenty chains   Look at my tennis shoes, I iced that   Who am I? the back twister, lingerie ripper   automatic leg spreader, quicker brain getter   keepin' it gangsta wit' ya