Hit Em Up (Single Version|Explicit) - 2Pac/The Outlawz
Written by：Shakur/Dennis Lambert/Franne Golde/Duane S. Hitchings
I ain't got no motherf**kin' friends
That's why I f**ked yo' b**ch you fat motherf**ker
Take money
West Side Bad Boy killas
Take money
You know who the realest is
Take money
We bring it too
Take money
First off f**k yo' b**ch and the clique you claim
Westside when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I f**ked your wife
We bust on Bad Boys niggas f**ked for life
Plus Puffy tryna see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M A F I A is some mark a** b**ches
We keep on comin' while we runnin' for your jewels
Steady gunnin' keep on bustin' at them fools you know the rules
Lil' Caesar go ask your homie how I'll leave ya
Cut your young a** up leave you in pieces now be deceased
Lil' Kim don't f**k around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly a** off the streets so f**k peace
I'll let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the Westside ride tonight ha ha ha
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
f**k with me and get yo' caps peeled you know
See grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac uh
Who shot me
But you punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Ni**a I hit 'em up
Check this out you motherf**kers 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'ma let my little homies ride
On you b**ch made a** Bad Boy b**ches feel it
Get out the way yo get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little Moo' pass the MAC
And let me hit him in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right for settin' traps
Little accident murderer
And I ain't never heard of ya
Poisonous gats attack when I'm servin' ya
Spank ya shank ya whole style when I gank
Guard your rank 'cause I'ma slam your a** in the paint
Puffy weaker than the f**kin' block I'm runnin' through ni**a
And I'm smokin' Junior M A F I A in front of you ni**a
With the ready power
Tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
Your clout petty sour
I push packages every hour I hit 'em up
Grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac uh
Who shot me
But you punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Ni**a I hit 'em up
Peep how we do it keep it real as penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle all you niggas gettin' killed
With your mouths open
Tryna come up off of me you in the clouds hopin'
Smokin' d**e it's like a sherm high
Niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn motherf**ker you deserve to die
Talkin' about you gettin' money but it's funny to me
All you niggas livin' bummy why you f**kin' with me
I'm a self made millionaire
Thug livin' out of prison pistols in the air ha ha
Biggie remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
And beg a b**ch to let you sleep in the house
Now it's 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 AK I'm still the thug that you love to hate
Motherf**ker I hit 'em up
I'm from N E W Jers' where plenty of murders occurs
No points or commas we bring drama to all you herbs
Now go check the scenario Lil' Cease
I'll bring you fake G's to your knees coppin' pleas in de Janeiro
Little Kim is you coked up or doped up
Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up
What the f**k is you stupid
I take money crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my click lootin' shootin' and pollutin' your block
With a 15 shot cocked Glock to your knot
Outlaw MAFIA clique movin' up another notch
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
All your fake a** East Coast props brainstormed and locked
You's a beat biter a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to your face you ain't sh*t but a faker
Softer than Alize with a chaser
About to get murdered for the paper
E D I Mean approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc with Little Ceas' in a choke
Gun totin' smoke we ain't no motherf**kin' joke
Thug Life niggas better be knowin'
We approachin' in the wide open gun smokin'
No need for hopin' it's a battle lost
I got 'em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin' off
Ni**a 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 M A F I A clique dressin' up tryna be us
How the f**k they gonna be the mob
When we always on our job
We millionaires killin' ain't fair
But somebody gotta do it
Oh yeah Mobb Deep you wanna f**k with us
You little young a** motherf**kers
Don't one of you niggas got sickle cell or somethin'
You're f**kin' with me ni**a
You f**k around and have a seizure or a heart attack
You better back the f**k up
Before you get smacked the f**k up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you niggas from New York that wanna bring it bring it
But we ain't singin' we bringin' drama
F**k you and yo' motherf**kin' mama
We gon' kill all you motherf**kers
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth
With a motherf**kin' opinion
Well this is how we gonna do this f**k Mobb Deep f**k Biggie
F**k Bad Boy as a staff record label and as a motherf**kin' crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy then f**k you too
Chino XL f**k you too
All you motherf**kers f**k you too
Take money take money
All of y'all motherf**kers f**k you die slow
Motherf**ker my 44 make sho' all y'all kids don't grow
You motherf**kers can't be us or see us
We motherf**kin' Thug Life ridas Westside 'til we die
Out here in California ni**a we warned ya
We'll bomb on you motherf**kers
We do our job
You think you mob Ni**a we the motherf**kin' mob
Ain't nothin' but killas
And the real niggas all you motherf**kers feel us
Our sh*t goes triple and 4 quadruple
You niggas laugh 'cause our staff got guns under their motherf**kin' belts
You know how it is when we drop records they felt
You niggas can't feel it we the realest
F**k 'em we Bad Boy killas