Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

My took me to Sam Goody's
I wanted to buy a 50 CD
I that shit home
shit was wack like a muthafucka
Don't with Game

I 50 Cent
He reminds me
And Tony is Blues Clues
And Lloyd Banks is Dora the
my friends

I went down one of them Bodaga right there in Harlem
Got me a bootleg Lloyd and Young Buck CD
Took shit home, put it in my boom box
Thought I was bout to be on some radio shit
Man that shit sound some Vanessa Williams '88
I mean cute but they say that bitch a man
So this Black Wallstreet for now
GGG-UNOT!

300 Bars and
Just loan me your ears for 15
with me

Here the breakdown, the doja, .45 in the holster
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them *****z toy soldiers
Oh, that boy colder than unless he sober
Like I'm the president, but this ain't the
Now, there's the speaker, bring your a little closer
you call this a diss, and you make Hova pissed
Why would I wanna do When I'm just the new cat
That was taught if a ***** take shots to back
Defending his yard, yeah standing his
I'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the
Nah, let Bleek do it, throw him a concert in Madison square
everybody sleep through it
We can go bar for bar, let the lines speak to 'em
What they say? Bleek is let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em
What you Them was the only *****z that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z with the soonies leave you in Philly
Then dash in like Beanie Mac in Philly
?? said Jack in Philly
Make a U-turn, I go back to Philly
I my cheese stake, that's what I told the cops
So they get the dogs start searching for the glock
And I can't forget, B.I.G. got murdered by the
Even I was Ready To Die, when I heard that he was
What's beef? is when I murk you on the spot
Labels signing many things, still searching for Pac
I put on the block
So I don't feel when Ludacris say he coming for the #1 spot
Ask 50, it get on top
You can me or love me, but now the cops the only homies he got
When it's beef we eat, we win, but we lonely we pop
You sell but a GGG-u not!
big on the radio, to me you not
You can ask Mr. CCC who hot
Tony Yayo I bet 10 G's you
Run up on new 300 C you got
Stop I fall, hope the bleeding stop
And I hope you black out you see the cops
I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Cedar
i got in my high tops will make your breathing stop
I'm a gangsta slash rapper, your CD shop
I'm Elvis in there, they can't believe he dropped
Now I'm moving on up to George and Weezy's
I picked up where my Eazy stopped
I saw the coast, put the shit on my back
Sprayed Aftermath on it, then loosened the
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring hell to *****z when Dre producing a
Take it to the streets, put the duece to your hat
call up the pigs, tell them the rooster's back
Call Jadakiss, tell him duke is back
I'm still by your side, no matter who comes
Fuck Banks, it ain't about who can rap
It's about when the ruger clap, is back
I see what you thinkin, you me to die, is that so?
Now you left leaning back, to Fat Joe
You got reservations in heaven, you Let's go
Drop them off, pop cristal wit Esko
I'm a say he hit me first, if me and Dre
All Nas back was he had a 3-4
Now that's the eulogy, beef is kinda see
*****z running their mouth what the fuck they gon' do to me
But quit the yapping I proceed to clapping
And you gon' see the captain with plans of getting me
Even bars, I'm still gon' shine
I'm 10 years younger than Yayo, I get out, I'm
Then I go back, ***** I pop mines
How you gon' drop Olivia, you drop dimes
I knew you changed, when you started sleeping in vest dog
I don't need 50 Cent, my *****z make collect
1-800-split a faggot wig
He got G-Unit wings, them off the Queens Bridge
Now your is over, career is over
We in QB, banging CNN in the
T-O-N-Y, that's the phony
You ain't the talk of New York, your is boring
that shit off lingo, go back to PC
And tell 50 Cent you a copy of Beef 3
I'm their ass out on DVD
You wanna rhyme like Lloyd Banks after me
I'm a toy soldier
On Sesame street doing overs
Bitch ass need a rhyme dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound like Oscar the Grouch, with them nursery
We was in the studio, when I got signed
He got stuck, he called 50 tryna borrow some
That's the wrong *****, when you help with your rhymes
All he tell you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad 'cause I ain't make your beef mine
You got lucky Ja, why you aint go at Shyne?
He freestyled from the pen, that's the fact
he'd put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with that
Then you lied about your pops, he ain't bust no cap
Father, Like Son, go ask Busta that
I knew from the beginning not to trust cats
I'd kill 'em all, if I could bring Justo
The underground is mine, I it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason *****z saying my name Mike Jones
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason saying my name like Mike Jones
I
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name like Mike
And I'm far Houston but you can chop it and screw it
Do whatever to it, but it in the store the shit
'em a hundred bars, they ain't think I could do it
Came two hundred, ***** this is more than music
Even Dre knew it, that boy hot like
Both feet in the dirt, 300 and Runnin
And I beef with any *****, say my muthafuck I'm gunnin'
You can put it on if you want it
air you out on Drama King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them shits sell out a Air Jordon shoe
I told Funk when I catch the ***** Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he know how to DJ bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the sidekick asking you did
Get a gun or ask police to use his
'cause gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods Bloods get ya for that Shadyville chain
That 380 spill brains, when I pop
NY, in front of hip-hop cops
Or broad day in L.A., tell Em and Dre
This ***** bootlegging my music, ain't for him to say
me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes
So I'ma him out his house, put the beam on his face
him off at Terror Squad, let him scream for the jakes
'cause you fucking with Jayceon, you can believe in L.A.
For caking off *****z on them and tapes
Ask to scratch a record, you will see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, you'd run and go get him a cheese
Take the DJ off your name, Mr. replay
Not the replay
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on singing like
Bitches feel your shit just a lil bit
*****z only your shit just a lil bit
On my 50 helped me just a lil bit
on two songs, now back to some killa shit
My clips bananas, I kill a gorilla
on your chest, I see to your death, yep
Tell Ecko to him a suit
Tell to make him some boots
Get him a head band, to the holes in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can through muddy waters like Redman
Banks blacked out and let the gun blam a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the lieutenant gotta ask for his
Take my advice, never air max for the pen
Unless you one of the Bloods, or a king
'cause if your left with the Aryans ass will sting
And cell mate is a 25 to lifer
They'll stab you at then fuck you on Rikers
And Life On
Now back to the coward of the hour who and said he write my songs
He Vibe Dre was gonna leave me on the shelf
So he gave me all his hits, you should've kept for yourself
***** stop acting before I stand over you
Show you how The Documentary live on top of The
a move I'm blasting your ass to the last one
Ten shots from the Mack the rest in the passenger
Fase yelling enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and lift the on the Maganum
Gun smoking, Fase I'm locin' backing up
Reverse the '05 hurse on 41st and traffic,
Hip-Hop cops on my left, but I 'em up
The Dodge got a hemmy in it, got a Remy in 'em
In and out of lanes a New York cab
I'm Mr. Ol' King, New York cab
Who's this fake *****, on pictures with the Jake
Got his starving 'cause he aint the whole cake, *****
He ain't Nas, ain't B.I.G., Jigga
If he ain't Cube or Pac who you got?
We getting tired of you talkin who you shot
use another six bars to tell you who you not
You 50 Cent, he went out like a gangsta
You out with Vivica, three months after wanksta
Get Rich or Die Tryin, we you was hot
Now the ***** wanna take us to the Candy Shop
man, what happened to the thug?
Now you could in the club, him and Lloyd Banks hugging
***** got mad when The Game buzzing
So fuck making friends now I'm into throwing
Olivia talking about we a family, had to go
***** I'll smack that ho like I'm
I don't wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna shake hands, or wear G-Unit shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, don't be in your group
Just sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can head to the block
Fresh Nike airs and the matching socks fitted

the brim low, if they don't get it
Bentley Coup on daytons, I was the first one with it
Four times platinum, I done been and did it
Came in the game and shitted, wiped my ass with it
They say the givth, if Lord take it away
So I build a on top of Hip-Hop, I'll wait for the day
*****z hating on me, don't want Jayceon to play
And the DA waiting on Jayceon to make a
So they can put me in the squad car and lock me
Give me a odd job in the pen for pay
Let me out so I can down criminal way
the rock, nah this ain't no subliminal Jay
The summer too hot, and I the winter to stay
I'm a cold ***** when I put the pen to the page
Similar to them shells going my gauge
I hand 'em off to Dre, he turned them granades
And Just Blaze, the boy got game
I close my eyes, and woke up in a Roc chain
Now back to reality, my gun and my
And if diamonds are forever, I'm Kanye West
Take a look at my chest, a thou at jacob
Whole crew got chains, a hundred can't break 'em
And the flow is hot that wit Satan
And the only thing I got is Daytons
The I get the more willing to snake 'em
So soon as the beat drop, where I take 'em
Compton Swap meet, to get me All-Stars
When Game in the house, they all cars
'cause they about what went on in D.C.
Heard about Hot 97, my with 50

Now me do he got a conscience?
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in this
Wouldn't be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this
I'd rather be pushing rock, like Samantha
50 whispered in my ear, like we still
We ain't friends, I'm just acting like Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one on my Johnson
Hip-Hop police on me I'm the convict
What happened to the old school? I it was rhyming
Doug E. Fresh and Daina on the corner like Common
Now that common, it's more like Top Ramen
The flow is noodles, I throw it up vomit
And I still shine like
They me out of G-Unit and I rebounded like Rodman
It's still Aftermath, two in the paint shit.
I be mad, I ain't, I'm to stop I can't because
I'm in the politican, Impala liffin'
And I keep a black .45 on the of my prada denim
on my shoulder like I'm fresh outta prison
Dollar vision, blow a hundred thou like my wallet
Then re-up like kid the d-cup
Continuously getting with my feet up
Chasing the throne, here my black Air
I said fuck Benzino and got the of The Source
Feel me? If not then I guess you kill me
But you ain't gon' do that so muthafucka back
While I do B.I.G. and impersonations on two tracks
When I the dead, everybody remove hats
We miss ya'll, can I get a hand
Now back to rap, why I gotta strapped?
On that T-I-P, kill you ASAP
They won't which hole to patch up, when the K clap
I tried to you Young Buck, now it's time for payback
It go, how you from Cashville but you ain't got no cash
Say my name now that's your fucking ass
your mouth shut and I gave you a pass nigga
Now I gotta lay you down like the nigga
Buck, buck, from my AK-47
This nigga playing with his life, I might to put him in heaven
Tryna the game, talking shit up on the stereo
for burial, it's when I'm reincarnating Harry-O
And you don't want that David you love your life
Get my Vibe, when it's war he pull out knifes
I'ma show you who the gangsta
All you do is Murder Inc., now who the
Suge had you, you were stranded on Tha Row
Juve left you for dead and back to the NO
50 heard you on the tour bus and felt your flow
Then he you temporary replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and that's hard to
And you got robbed for your spinning chain in Chicago
I my nigga Jojo to get it back
He had the shit in his hands, and you had the ten stacks
Picture that, I thought we was
Then you ran and told 50 that I did shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy ain't hard to
I told Monica I catch him The Boy is Mine
one shot of Brandy and pop
Watch his panties drop, I run inside the Candy Shop
Fuck you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the
And Olivia, I for a man she hot
Now I'm out of breath, like I just beat boxed
Got 20 to go, lay it down like sheet rock
Don't worry about the flow, the boy he hot
Hurricanes in November, nigga fuck Reebocks
I'm fly like a Hummingbird on a top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I three spots
280 in, ain't no me back
I'm fuck the world, on my victory lap
Remember it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now whoever muthafucka, yeah, who want beef?
Now whenever muthafucka, who see me?
In the coffin, exhausted, resting in peace
You want war nigga, you want peace
So 'em the peace, capiche (sp?)
Let 'em in peace
From west to east the is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm with Satan
And I slipped 'em the ace, you replace 'em
If Eazy decide to return, I remain Jayceon
A king in the making, and the is for the taking
So I climb the mountain top and put my in
Got the weight of the on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat bitch can stop me from taking it
This is music, go get the baking soda
300 Bars and Runnin, nigga the wait is
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone