2Pac: Hit em up

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2Pac

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2Pac: Hit em up

So I fucked your bitchYou fat mutha-fucka {Take Money}West SideBad Boy Killers {Take Money}You know who the realist isNiggas we bring it to {Take Money}{ha ha, that's alright}First off, fuck your bitchAnd the click you claimWest side when we rideCome equipped with gameYou claim to be a playaBut, I fucked your wifeWe bust on Bad BoysNiggas fuck for LifePlus Puffy tryin' to see me weakHearts I ripBiggie Smalls and Junior MafiaSome mark ass bitchesWe keep on comingWhile we running for yah jewelsSteady gunningKeep on busting at them foolsYou know the rulesLittle Ceasar go ask you homieHow i'll leave yahCut your young ass upSee yah in piecesNow be deceasedLittle Kim,Don't fuck with real ass G'sQuick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streetsSo fuck peaceI'll let them niggas knowIt's on for LifeDon't let the west sideRide the night {ha ha}Bad Boys murdered on Wax and killFuck with meAnd get your caps peeledYou know, SeeGrab your glocks when you see 2pacCall the cops when you see 2pac, UhhWho shot me,But, your punks didn't finishNow, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menaceNigga, I hit 'em upCheck this outYou mutha-fuckas know what time it isI don't know why I'm even on this trackY'all niggas ain't even on my levelI'm going to let my little homiesRide on yahBitch made ass Bad Boys bitches{ahh yo, yo, hold the fuck up}Get out the way yoGet out the way yoBiggie Smalls just got droppedLittle move pass the macAnd let me hit 'em in his backFrank White needs to get spanked rightFor setting up trapsLittle accident murderersAnd I ain't never heard of yahPoise less gats attack when I'm serving yahSpank the shankYour whole style when I gankGaurd your rankCause I'm a slam your ass in a pangPuffy weaker than a fuckin' blockI'm running through niggaAnd I'm smoking Junior MafiaIn front of yah niggaWith the ready powerTucked in my GuessUnder my Eddie BowerYour clout petty sourI push packages ever hourI hit 'em upGrab your glocks when you see 2pacCall the cops when you see 2pac, UhhWho shot me,But, your punks didn't finishNow, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menaceNigga, We hit 'em upPeep how we do itKeep it realIts penitentary steelThis ain't no freestyle battleAll you niggas getting killedWith your mouths openTryin' to come up off of meYou and the clouds hopingSmoking dopeIt's like a ShermineNiggas think they learned to flyBut they burn mutha-fucka you deserve to dieTalking about you Getting MoneyBut its funny to meAll you niggas living bummyWhile you fucking with me?I'm a self made MillioniareThug livin', out of prisonPistols in the Air {Air} {Ha Ha}Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couchAnd beg the bitch to let you sleep on the houseNow its all about versaceYou copied my styleFive shots couldn't drop meI took it and smiledNow I'm back to set the record straightWith my A-KI'm still the thug that you love to hateMutha-fucka I'll Hit 'Em UpI'm from N E W jers.Where plenty of murders occursNo points to comeWe bring drama to all you herdsNow go check the scenerioLittle Ceas'I'll bring you fake G's to yah kneesCopin' pleas with these {???}Little Kim is yahCoked up or doped upGet your little Junior Whopper click smoked upWhat the fuck?Is you stupid?I take money,crash and mash through BrooklynWith my click looting, shooting, and polluting your blockWith fifteen shot,Cocked glock to your knotOutlaw Mafia click moving up another knotchAnd your {?"Pop stars" pops?} and get dropped and moppedAnd all your fake ass east coast propsBrainstormed and lockedYou's a B-writerPac style takerI'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a fakerSoften the Alize with a chaserBout to get murdered for the paperIdi Amin approach the scene of the caperLike a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke {uhh}Toting smoke, we ain't no mutha-fuckin' jokeThug Life, niggas better be knownBe approachingIn the wide open, gun smokingNo need for hopingIt's a battle lostI gottem crossed as soon as the funk is boping offNigga, I hit 'em upNow you tell me who wonI see them, they run {ha ha}They don't wanna see usWhole Junior Mafia clickDressing up to be usHow the fuck they gonna be the Mob?When we always on out jobWe millionaire'sKilling ain't fairBut somebody got to do itOh yah Mobb Deep {uhh}You wanna fuck with usYou Little young ass mutha-fuckasDon't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or somethingYou fucking with me, nigga ?You fuck around and catch a siezure or a heart-attackYou better back the fuck upBefore you get smacked the fuck upThis is how we do it on our sideAny of you niggas from New York that want to bring it,Bring it.But we ain't singing,We bringing dramaFuck 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 opinionWell 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, niggaWe warned ya'We'll bomb on you mother fuckers.We do our job.You think you the mob, nigga, we the mother fuckin' mobAin't nuttin' but killersAnd the real niggas, all you mother fuckers feel us.Our shit goes tripple and four quadrupleYou niggas laugh cuz our staff got guns under they mother fuckin' beltsYou know how it is and we drop records they feltYou niggas can't feel itWe the realistFuck 'em.We Bad Boy killas.
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~Gość (20 stycznia 2015, 00:27)
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