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2Pac
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1
[Tupac]
2
I ain't got no motherfucking friends
3
That's why I fucked your bitch
4
You fat motherfucker (Take Money)
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West Side
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Bad Boy Killers (Take Money)
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You know who the realist is
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niggas we bring it to (Take Money)
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(ha ha, that's alright)
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First off, fuck your bitch
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And the clique you claim
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West side when we ride
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Come equipped with game
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You claim to be a player
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But I fucked your wife
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We bust on Bad Boys
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niggas fuck for Life
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Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak
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Hearts I rip
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Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia
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Some mark ass bitches
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We keep on coming
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While we running for your jewels
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Steady gunning
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Keep on busting at them fools
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You know the rules
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Little Ceasar go ask you homie
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How I'll leave you
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Cut your young ass up
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See you in pieces
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Now be deceased
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Little Kim,
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Don't fuck around with real G's
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Quick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streets
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So fuck peace
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I'll let them niggas know
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It's on for Life
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Don't let the west side
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Ride the night (ha ha)
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Bad Boys murdered on Wax and kill
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fuck with me
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And get your caps peeled
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You know, see
44
[Chorus:]
45
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
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Call the cops when you see 2pac, uh
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Who shot me,
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But your punks didn't finish
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Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
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nigga, I hit 'em up
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Check this out
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You motherfuckers know what time it is
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I don't even know why I'm on this track
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You all niggas ain't even on my level
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I'm going to let my little homies
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Ride on you
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bitch made ass Bad Boys bitches
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(ah yo, yo, hold the fuck up)
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Get out the way yo
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Get out the way yo
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Biggie Smalls just got dropped
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Little move pass the mac
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And let me hit 'em in his back
64
Frank White needs to get spanked right
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For setting traps
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Little accident murderers
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And I ain't never heard of you
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Poisonous gats attack when I'm serving you
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Spank the shank
70
Your whole style when I gank
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Guard your rank
72
'cause I'm a slam your ass in a pang
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Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block
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I'm running through nigga
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And I'm smoking Junior Mafia
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In front of you nigga
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With the ready power
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Tucked in my Guess
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Under my Eddie Bauer
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Your clout petty sour
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I push packages ever hour
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I hit 'em up
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[Chorus]
84
Peep how we do it
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Keep it real
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Its penitentiary steel
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This ain't no freestyle battle
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All you niggas getting killed
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With your mouths open
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Tryin' to come up off of me
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You in the clouds hoping
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Smoking dope
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It's like a Sherm high
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niggas think they learned to fly
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But they burn motherfucker you deserve to die
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Talking about you Getting Money
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But it's funny to me
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All you niggas living bummy
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While you fucking with me?
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I'm a self made Millionaire
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Thug livin', out of prison
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Pistols in the Air (Air) (Ha Ha)
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Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
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And beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house
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Now it's all about Versace
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You copied my style
107
Five shots couldn't drop me
108
I took it and smiled
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Now I'm back to set the record straight
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With my A-K
111
I'm still the thug that you love to hate
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Motherfucker I'll Hit 'Em Up
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I'm from N E W Jers.
114
Where plenty of murder occurs
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No points to come
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We bring drama to all you herds
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Now go check the scenario
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Little Ceas'
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I'll bring you fake G's to your knees
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Coppin' pleas in de Janeiro
121
Little Kim is you
122
Coked up or doped up
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Get your little Junior Whopper clique smoked up
124
What the fuck?
125
Is you stupid?
126
I take money,
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crash and mash through Brooklyn
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With my clique looting, shooting, and polluting your block
129
With fifteen shot,
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Cocked glock to your knot
131
Outlaw Mafia clique moving up another notch
132
And your Pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
133
And all your fake ass east coast props
134
Brainstormed and locked
135
You's a beat biter
136
Pac style taker
137
I'll tell you to your face, you ain't shit but a faker
138
Soften than Alize with a chaser
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'bout to get murdered for the paper
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E.D. I mean post the scene of the caper
141
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke (uh)
142
Toting smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin' joke
143
Thug Life, niggas better be known
144
Be approaching
145
In the wide open, gun smoking
146
No need for hoping
147
It's a battle lost
148
I gottem crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off
149
nigga, I hit 'em up
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Now you tell me who won
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I see them, they run (ha ha)
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They don't wanna see us
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Whole Junior Mafia clique
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Dressing up trying to be us
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How the fuck they gonna be the Mob?
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When we always on out job
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We millionaire's
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Killing ain't fair
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But somebody got to do it
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Oh yah Mobb Deep (uh)
161
You wanna fuck with us
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You Little young ass motherfuckers
163
Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something
164
You're fucking with me, nigga?
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You fuck around and catch a seizure or a heart-attack
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You better back the fuck up
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Before you get smacked the fuck up
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This is how we do it on our side
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Any of you niggas from New York that want to bring it,
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Bring it.
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But we ain't singing,
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We bringing drama
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fuck you and your mother fucking mama.
174
We're gonna kill all you mother fuckers.
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Now when I came out, I told you it was just about biggie.
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Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fucking opinion
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Well this is how we gonna' do this:
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fuck Mobb Deep,
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fuck Biggie,
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fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother fucking crew.
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And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
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Then fuck you too.
183
Chino XL, fuck you too.
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All you mother fuckers,
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fuck you too.
186
(take money, take money)
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All of y'all mother fuckers,
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fuck you, die slow motherfucker.
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My four four (.44 magnum) make sure all your kids don't grow.
190
You motherfuckers can't be us or see us.
191
We mother fuckin' Thug Life riders.
192
West Side till' we die.
193
Out here in California, nigga
194
We warned ya'
195
We'll bomb on you mother fuckers.
196
We do our job.
197
You think you the mob, nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob
198
Ain't nothing but killers
199
And the real niggas, all you motherfuckers feel us.
200
Our shit goes triple and four quadruple
201
You niggas laugh 'cause our staff got guns under they motherfuckin' belts
202
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
203
You niggas can't feel it
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We the realist
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fuck 'em.
206
We Bad Boy killers.
2Pac - Hit 'Em Up (Dirty) (Music Video) ...
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