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2Pac - Hit Em Up lyrics
[Tupac] I ain't got no mutha fuckin friends Thats why I fucked your bitch You fat mutha-fucka {Take Money} West Side Bad Boy Killers {Take Money} You know who the realist is niggas we bring it to {Take Money} (ha ha, that's alright) First off, fuck your bitch And the click you claim West side when we ride Come equipped with game You claim to be a playa But, I fucked your wife We bust on Bad Boys niggas fuck for Life Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak Hearts I rip Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia Some mark ass bitches We keep on coming While we running for yah jewels Steady gunning Keep on busting at them fools You know the rules Little Ceasar go ask you homie How i'll leave yah Cut your young ass up See yah in pieces Now be deceased Little Kim, Don't fuck around with real G's Quick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streets So fuck peace I'll let them niggas know It's on for Life Don't let the west side Ride the night (ha ha) Bad Boys murdered on Wax and kill fuck with me And get your caps peeled You know, See [Chorus] Grab your glocks when you see 2pac Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh Who shot me, But, your punks didn't finish Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace nigga, I hit 'em up Check this out You mutha-fuckas know what time it is I don't know why I'm even on this track Y'all niggas ain't even on my level I'm going to let my little homies Ride on yah bitch made ass Bad Boys bitches {ahh yo, yo, hold the fuck up} Get out the way yo Get out the way yo Biggie Smalls just got dropped Little move pa*s the mac And let me hit 'em in his back Frank White needs to get spanked right For setting up traps Little accident murderers And I ain't never heard of yah Poise less gats attack when I'm serving yah Spank the shank Your whole style when I gank Guard your rank Cause I'm a slam your ass in a pang Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block I'm running through nigga And I'm smoking Junior Mafia In front of yah nigga With the ready power Tucked in my Guess Under my Eddie Bower Your clout petty sour I push packages ever hour I hit 'em up [Chorus] Grab your glocks when you see 2pac Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh Who shot me, But, your punks didn't finish Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace nigga, We hit 'em up Peep how we do it Keep it real Its penitentiary steel This ain't no freestyle battle All you niggas getting killed With your mouths open Tryin' to come up off of me You and the clouds hoping Smoking dope It's like a Shermine niggas think they learned to fly But they burn mutha-fucka you deserve to die Talking about you Getting Money But its funny to me All you niggas living bummy While you fucking with me? I'm a self made Millionaire Thug livin', out of prison Pistols in the Air {Air} (Ha Ha) Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch And beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house Now its all about versace You copied my style Five shots couldn't drop me I took it and smiled Now I'm back to set the record straight With my A-K I'm still the thug that you love to hate Mutha-fucka I'll Hit 'Em Up I'm from N E W Jers. Where plenty of murder occurs No points to come We bring drama to all you herds Now go check the scenerio Little Ceas' I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees Copin' pleas with these Little Kim is yah Coked up or doped up Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up What the fuck? Is you stupid? I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn With my click looting, shooting, and polluting your block With fifteen shot, Cocked glock to your knot Outlaw Mafia click moving up another notch And your Pop stars popped and get dropped and mopped And all your fake ass east coast props Brainstormed and locked You'se a beat biter Pac style taker I'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker So fill the Alize with a chaser 'bout to get murdered for the paper E.d.i I mean post the scene of the caper Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke (uhh) Toting smoke, we ain't no mutha-fuckin' joke Thug Life, niggas better be known Be approaching In the wide open, gun smoking No need for hoping It's a battle lost I gottem crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off nigga, I hit 'em up Now you tell me who won I see them, they run (ha ha) They don't wanna see us Whole Junior Mafia click Dressing up to be us How the fuck they gonna be the Mob? When we always on out job We millionaire's Killing ain't fair But somebody got to do it Oh yah Mobb Deep (uhh) You wanna fuck with us You Little young ass mutha-fuckas Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something You fucking with me, nigga ? You fuck around and catch a seizure or a heart-attack You better back the fuck up Before you get smacked the fuck up This is how we do it on our side Any of you niggas from New York that want to bring it, Bring it. But we ain't singing, We bringing drama fuck you and your mother fucking mama. We gonna kill all you mother fuckers. Now when I came out, I told you it was just about biggie. Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fuckin opinion Well this is how we gon' do this: fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie, fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother fuckin crew. And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, Then fuck you too. Chino XL, fuck you too. All you mother fuckers, fuck you too. (take money, take money) All of y'all mother fuckers, fuck you, die slow mother fucker. My fo' fo' (.44 magnum) make sure all yo' kids don't grow. You mother fuckers can't be us or see us. We mother fuckin' Thug Life riders. West Side till' we die. Out here in California, nigga We warned ya' We'll bomb on you mother fuckers. We do our job. You think you the mob, nigga, we the mother fuckin' mob Ain't nuttin' but killers And the real niggas, all you mother fuckers feel us. Our shit goes triple and four quadruple You niggas laugh cuz our staff got guns under they mother fuckin' belts You know how it is and we drop records they felt You niggas can't feel it We the realist fuck 'em. We Bad Boy killas. |
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