2Pac "Hit em up" Слова пісні

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Hit em up

[Tupac]I ain't got no motherfucking friendsThat's why I fucked your bitchYou fat motherfucker (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 clique you claimWest side when we rideCome equipped with gameYou claim to be a playerBut 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 your jewelsSteady gunningKeep on busting at them foolsYou know the rulesLittle Ceasar go ask you homieHow I'll leave youCut your young ass upSee you in piecesNow be deceasedLittle Kim,Don't fuck around with real 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, see

[Chorus:]Grab your glocks when you see 2pacCall the cops when you see 2pac, uhWho shot me,But your punks didn't finishNow you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menacenigga, I hit 'em up

Check this outYou motherfuckers know what time it isI don't even know why I'm on this trackYou all niggas ain't even on my levelI'm going to let my little homiesRide on youbitch made ass Bad Boys bitches(ah 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 trapsLittle accident murderersAnd I ain't never heard of youPoisonous gats attack when I'm serving youSpank the shankYour whole style when I gankGuard your rank'cause 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 you niggaWith the ready powerTucked in my GuessUnder my Eddie BauerYour clout petty sourI push packages ever hourI hit 'em up

[Chorus]

Peep how we do itKeep it realIts penitentiary steelThis ain't no freestyle battleAll you niggas getting killedWith your mouths openTryin' to come up off of meYou in the clouds hopingSmoking dopeIt's like a Sherm highniggas think they learned to flyBut they burn motherfucker you deserve to dieTalking about you Getting MoneyBut it's funny to meAll you niggas living bummyWhile you fucking with me?I'm a self made MillionaireThug 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 in the houseNow it's 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 hateMotherfucker I'll Hit 'Em Up

I'm from N E W Jers.Where plenty of murder occursNo points to comeWe bring drama to all you herdsNow go check the scenarioLittle Ceas'I'll bring you fake G's to your kneesCoppin' pleas in de JaneiroLittle Kim is youCoked up or doped upGet your little Junior Whopper clique smoked upWhat the fuck?Is you stupid?I take money,crash and mash through BrooklynWith my clique looting, shooting, and polluting your blockWith fifteen shot,Cocked glock to your knotOutlaw Mafia clique moving up another notchAnd your Pop stars popped and get mopped and droppedAnd all your fake ass east coast propsBrainstormed and locked

You's a beat biterPac style takerI'll tell you to your face, you ain't shit but a fakerSoften than Alize with a chaser'bout to get murdered for the paperE.D. I mean post the scene of the caperLike a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke (uh)Toting smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin' 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 bopping offnigga, I hit 'em up

Now you tell me who wonI see them, they run (ha ha)They don't wanna see usWhole Junior Mafia cliqueDressing up trying 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 it

Oh yah Mobb Deep (uh)You wanna fuck with usYou Little young ass motherfuckersDon't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or somethingYou're fucking with me, nigga?You fuck around and catch a seizure 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're 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 fucking opinionWell this is how we gonna' do this:fuck Mobb Deep,fuck Biggie,fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother fucking 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 motherfucker.My four four (.44 magnum) make sure all your kids don't grow.You motherfuckers 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 motherfuckin' mobAin't nothing but killersAnd the real niggas, all you motherfuckers feel us.Our shit goes triple and four quadrupleYou niggas laugh 'cause our staff got guns under they motherfuckin' beltsYou know how it is and we drop records they feltYou niggas can't feel itWe the realistfuck 'em.We Bad Boy killers.

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