2 PAC - Hit'em Up lyrics

rate me

So I fucked your bitch<br>

You fat mutha-fucka {take money}<br>

West side<br>

Bad boy killers {take money}<br>

You know who the realist is<br>

Niggas we bring it to {take money}<br>

[ha ha, that's alright]<br>

<br>

First off, fuck your bitch<br>

And the click you claim<br>

West side when we ride<br>

Come equipped with game<br>

You claim to be a playa<br>

But, I fucked your wife<br>

We bust on bad boys<br>

Niggas fuck for life<br>

Plus puffy tryin' to see me weak<br>

Hearts I rip<br>

Biggie smalls and junior mafia<br>

Some mark ass bitches<br>

We keep on coming<br>

While we running for yah jewels<br>

Steady gunning<br>

Keep on busting at them fools<br>

You know the rules<br>

Little ceasar go ask you homie<br>

How I'll leave yah<br>

Cut your young ass up<br>

See yah in pieces<br>

Now be deceased<br>

Little kim,<br>

Don't fuck with real ass g's<br>

Quick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streets<br>

So fuck peace<br>

I'll let them niggas know<br>

It's on for life<br>

Don't let the west side<br>

Ride the night [ha ha]<br>

Bad boys murdered on wax and kill

Fuck with me

And get your caps peeled

You know, see

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 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 ain't never heard of yah

Poise less gats attack when I'm serving yah

Spank the shank

Your whole style when I gank

Gaurd 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

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 penitentary 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 it's funny to me

All you niggas living bummy

While you fucking with me?

I'm 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 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 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 murders 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 knotch

And your [? pop stars pops? ] and get dropped and mopped

And all your fake ass east coast props

Brainstormed and locked

You's a b-writer

Pac style taker

I'll tell you to face, you ain't 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 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 boping 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 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 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 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 can't feel it

We the realist

Fuck 'em.

We bad boy killas.

Thanks to wkdpedia for these lyrics