Luyện nghe bài hát 300 Bars & Runnin'

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

I like 50
He me Spongebob
And Tony Yayo is Blues
And Lloyd Banks is Dora the
my friends

I went down one of them Bodaga shits right in Harlem
Got me a Lloyd Banks 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 like Vanessa Williams '88
I mean cute but they say that bitch a man
So this Black Wallstreet for now
GGG-UNOT!

300 and Runnin
Just loan me ears for 15 minutes
Walk me

Here the breakdown, pass the doja, .45 in the
Hollow tips'll fold 'em, them they toy soldiers
Oh, that boy colder than Hova unless he
Like I'm the president, but this ain't the
Now, there's the speaker, bring your ears a closer
Before you call this a diss, and you make pissed
Why would I wanna do that? I'm just the new cat
That was if a ***** take shots to shoot back
his yard, yeah standing his ground
I'm saying if you gonna retire, then hand me the
Nah, let Bleek do it, throw him a concert in Madison square
Watch everybody through it
We can go bar for bar, let the lines speak to 'em
What they say? is over let Chris and Neef do it
They say the wrong thing, I'ma smack 'em
you thought? Them was the only *****z that rapped in Philly?
See them *****z the soonies leave you wrapped in Philly
Then dash in groups like Beanie Mac in
?? said Curtis in Philly
Make a U-turn, I gotta go back to
I forgot my stake, that's what I told the cops
So they wouldn't get the 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 he was shot
What's Beef is when I murk you on the spot
signing many things, still searching for they Pac
I put on the block
So I don't feel threatened when Ludacris say he coming for the #1
Ask 50, it get on top
You can hate me or me, but now the cops the only homies he got
When it's we eat, we win, but we ain't lonely we pop
You sell records but a 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 hoping I fall, the bleeding stop
And I hope you black out you see the cops
I ain't High Top from Colors, I'm from Cedar
What i got in my high tops will make your breathing
I'm a gangsta slash rapper, check CD shop
I'm like Elvis in there, they can't he dropped
Now I'm on up to George and Weezy's spot
I picked up where my homeboy Eazy
I saw the coast, put the shit on my back
Sprayed Aftermath on it, loosened the strap
It get hot in here, let rap
Bring hell to when Dre producing a track
Take it to the streets, put the duece to your hat
Then call up the pigs, tell them the back
Call Jadakiss, tell him duke is back
I'm by your side, no matter who comes strapped
Fuck Lloyd Banks, it about who can rap
It's when the ruger clap, is rufus back
I see what you thinkin, you want me to die, is so?
Now you left leaning back, to Fat Joe
You got reservations in heaven, you ready? go
Drop them off, then pop wit Esko
I'm a say he hit me first, if me and Dre
All Nas said was he had a 3-4
Now that's the eulogy, beef is foolish see
*****z running their mouth about what the fuck they do to me
But quit the before I proceed to clapping
And you gon' see the captain with of getting me captured
Even bars, I'm still gon' shine
I'm 10 years younger Yayo, I get out, I'm fine
Then I go right back, ***** I pop
How you gon' Olivia, you only 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, throw off the Queens Bridge
Now career is over, career is over
We in QB, banging CNN in the
T-O-N-Y, that's the phony
You ain't the of New York, your sixteens is boring
Take shit off lingo, go back to PC
And 50 Cent you want a copy of Beef 3
I'm airing ass out on DVD
You wanna rhyme like Lloyd repeat after me
I'm a toy soldier
On Sesame street doing overs
Bitch ass ***** need a dictionary, to rehearse his lines
Sound like the Grouch, with them nursery rhymes
We was in the studio, when I first got
He got stuck, he 50 tryna borrow some lines
That's the *****, when you need help with your rhymes
All he tell you is say G-Unit one more time
Got mad I ain't wanna make your beef mine
You got lucky with Ja, why you go at Shyne?
He from the pen, that's just the fact
Said put you with your mom, and you ain't fucked with that
you lied about your pops, he ain't never bust no cap
Like Father, Son, go ask Busta that
I knew from the beginning not to trust cats
I'd 'em all, if I could bring Justo back
The underground is mine, I treat it home
It's the reason saying my name like Mike Jones
The underground is mine, I it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my like Mike Jones
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name Mike Jones
I
The is mine, I treat it like home
It's the reason *****z saying my name like Jones
And I'm far from Houston but you can chop it and it
Do whatever to it, but it in the the shit moving
Gave 'em a bars, they ain't think I could do it
Came two hundred, ***** this is more than music
Even Dre it, that boy hot like summer
feet in the dirt, 300 Bars and Runnin
And I beef with any *****, say my name muthafuck I'm
You can put it on if you want it
I'll air you out on King, Mike, or Clue
And watch them shits sell out like a Air Jordon
I told Funk Flex I catch the ***** Whoo Kid
We gon' see if he know how to DJ bruised ribs
Don't hit me on the asking what you did
Get a gun or ask 50's to use his
Bloods gonna get ya
Bloods Bloods Bloods gonna get ya for Shadyville chain
That 380 spill brains, I pop shots
NY, in front of hip-hop cops
Or broad day in L.A., tell Em and Dre
This ***** my music, ain't nothing for him to say
me off my own songs, then put it on his tapes
So I'ma take him out his house, put the beam on his
Drop him off at 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 them to scratch a record, you see he fake
If 50 was Puffy, run and go get him a cheese cake
Take the DJ off name, Mr. Instant replay
Not the replay
I mean the machine that G-Unit use every time 50 on stage like
Bitches feel your shit just a lil bit
only feel your shit just a lil bit
On my 50 helped me just a lil bit
Only on two songs, now back to some killa
My clips bananas, I kill a quick
Beating on your chest, I see to death, yep
Tell Ecko to make him a
Tell Reebock to him some boots
Get him a head band, to the holes in his head
He a dead man for thinking he can walk muddy waters like Redman
blacked out and let the gun blam without a M-E-T-H-O-D Man
So the gotta ask for his strings
Take my advice, never air max for the pen
you one of the Bloods, or a latin king
'cause if left with the Aryans your ass will sting
And your cell is a 25 to lifer
They'll you at Folsom then fuck you on Rikers
And Goes On
Now to the coward of the hour who lied and said he write my songs
He told Vibe Dre was leave me on the shelf
So he me all his hits, you should've kept them for yourself
***** stop acting tough before I stand you
you how The Documentary live on top of The Massacre
Make a move I'm blasting ass to the last one
Ten shots from the empty the rest in the passenger
yelling thats enough, let the coroner bag him up
Throw in Makaveli and lift the doors on the
Gun smoking, Fase I'm locin' backing up
the '05 hurse on 41st and traffic, what
Hip-Hop cops on my left, but I 'em up
The got a hemmy in it, Game 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 *****?
Got his crew starving 'cause he aint the whole cake,
He ain't Nas, ain't B.I.G., Jigga
If he ain't Cube or Pac then who you
We getting tired of you about who you shot
I'll use six bars to tell you who you not
You ain't 50 Cent, he went out like a
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
C'mon man, happened to the thug?
Now you could find in the club, him and Lloyd Banks
***** got mad when The start buzzing
So fuck making now I'm into throwing slugs
Olivia talking we a family, Game had to go
***** I'll smack ho like I'm Jackie-O
'cause I wanna be cool, I don't wanna be you
I don't wanna shake hands, or wear your shoes
Don't want you on my hooks, don't wanna be in your
Just sit here and wait
To be gone, so I can head back to the
Fresh Nike airs and the matching socks fitted

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

Now me do he got a conscience?
I think not, 'cause if he did I wouldn't be involved in nonsense
be in Harlem, wouldn't be at this conference
I'd rather be pushing rock, like Samantha
50 whispered in my ear, like we bonding
We ain't friends, I'm just like Charles Bronson
Middle finger in the air, one hand on my
Hip-Hop police on me I'm the convict
happened to the old school? I thought 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 shine like diamonds
They kicked me out of G-Unit and I like Rodman
still Aftermath, two feet in the paint shit.
I be mad, I ain't, I'm supposed to I can't because
I'm in the hood politican, liffin'
And I keep a .45 on the side of my prada denim
Chip on my shoulder like I'm fresh prison
Dollar vision, a hundred thou like my wallet missing
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 cover of The
Feel me? If not then I you gotta kill me
But you ain't gon' do that so muthafucka back
I do B.I.G. and 'Pac impersonations on two tracks
When I wake the dead, everybody hats
We ya'll, can I get a hand clap?
Now back to rap, why I stay strapped?
On murder T-I-P, kill you ASAP
They won't which hole to patch up, when the K clap
I tried to spare you Young Buck, now it's time for
It go, how you from but you ain't got no cash nigga?
Say my name now that's your ass nigga
Kept your shut and I gave you a pass nigga
Now I lay you down like the last nigga
Buck, buck, from my AK-47
This nigga playing his life, I might have to put him in heaven
Tryna play the game, talking shit up on the
Prepare for burial, it's when I'm reincarnating
And you don't want that David 'cause you love life
Get my Vibe, when it's war he pull out butter
I'ma show you who the gangsta
All you do is Murder Inc., now who the
When Suge had you, you were on Tha Row
Juve left you for dead and went to the NO
50 you on the tour bus and felt your little flow
Then he you temporary replacement for Yayo
You a bitch, and hard to swallow
And you got robbed for your spinning G-Unit chain in
I my nigga Jojo to get it back
He had the shit in his hands, and you ain't had the ten
Picture that, I thought we was
Then you ran and told 50 that I did shit
Ask C-Murder, the boy hard to find
I told Monica I catch him The Boy is Mine
one shot of Brandy and pop
Watch his panties drop, when I run inside the Shop
you, 50, Banks, Yayo, and the cops
And Olivia, I for a man she hot
Now I'm running out of breath, I just beat boxed
Got 20 bars to go, lay it down like sheet
Don't worry about the flow, the boy he hot
Hurricanes in November, nigga fuck Reebocks
I'm fly a Hummingbird on a tree top
The new Hov, the new B.I.G., the new 'Pac, I need three
280 in, ain't no me back
I'm fuck the world, on my victory lap
first it was Buddens, then it was Bleek
Now it's whoever muthafucka, yeah, who beef?
Now muthafucka, who wanna see me?
In the coffin, body exhausted, resting in
You don't want war nigga, you want
So give 'em the peace, (sp?)
Let 'em in peace
From west to the flow is outdatable, irreplacable
Lyrical homicide, hell is hot, I'm boxing Satan
And I slipped 'em the ace, you cannot 'em
If Eazy ever to return, I remain Jayceon
A in the making, and the throne is for the taking
So I climb the top and put my stake in
Got the weight of the on my shoulder
Not a nigga nor a hoodrat can stop me from taking it over
is crack music, go get the baking soda
300 and Runnin, nigga the wait is over
I'm gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone