2pac - 2pac - Hit Em Up

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2pac - 2pac - Hit Em Up

[Intro: 2Pac]
So 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}

[Verse 1: 2Pac]
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 Ill leave yah
Cut your young ass up
See yah in pieces
Now be deceased
Little kim,
Dont fuck with real ass gs
Quick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streets
So fuck peace
Ill let them niggas know
Its on for life
Dont 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: 2Pac]
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didnt finish
Now, you bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit em up

[Interlude: 2Pac]
Check this out
You mutha-fuckas know what time it is
I dont know why Im even on this track
Yall niggas aint even on my level
Im going to let my little homies
Ride on yah
Bitch made ass bad boys bitches
{ahh yo, yo, hold the fuck up}

[Verse 1: Outlawz]
Get out the way yo
Get out the way yo
Biggie smalls just got dropped
Little move pass 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 aint never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack when Im serving yah
Spank the shank
Your whole style when I gank
Gaurd your rank
Cause Im a slam your ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a fuckin block
Im running through nigga
And Im 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: 2Pac]
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didnt finish
Now, you bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, we hit em up

[Verse 3: 2Pac]
Peep how we do it
Keep it real
Its penitentary steel
This aint 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
Its 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?
Im a self made millioniare
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 on the house
Now its all about versace
You copied my style
Five shots couldnt drop me
I took it and smiled
Now Im back to set the record straight
With my a-k
Im still the thug that you love to hate
Mutha-fucka Ill hit em up

[Verse 4: Outlawz]
Im from n e w jers.
Where plenty of murders occurs
No points to come
We bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio
Little ceas
Ill bring you fake gs 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 knotch
And your [? pop stars pops? ] and get dropped and mopped
And all your fake ass east coast props
Brainstormed and locked

[Verse 5: Outlawz]
Yous a b-writer
Pac style taker
Ill tell you to face, you aint nothing shit but a faker
Soften the alize with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi amin approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little ceas in a choke [uhh]
Toting smoke, we aint no mutha-fuckin joke
Thug life, niggas better be known
Be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping
Its a battle lost
I gottem crossed as soon as the funk is boping off
Nigga, I hit em up

[Epilogue: 2Pac]
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run [ha ha]
They dont 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 millionaires
Killing aint fair
But somebody got to do it

Oh yah mobb deep [uhh]
You wanna fuck with us
You little young ass mutha-fuckas
Dont one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something
You fucking with me, nigga ?
You fuck around and catch a siezure 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 aint 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 yall mother fuckers,
Fuck you, die slow mother fucker.
My fo fo (.44 magnum) make sure all yo kids dont grow.
You mother fuckers cant be us or see us.
We mother fuckin thug life riders.
West side till we die.
Out here in california, nigga
We warned ya
Well bomb on you mother fuckers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nigga, we the mother fuckin mob
Aint nuttin but killers
And the real niggas, all you mother fuckers feel us.
Our shit goes tripple 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 cant feel it
We the realist
Fuck em.
We bad boy killas.

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