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| 2Pac Miscellaneous Hit 'Em Up Intro: Tupac I ain't got no motherfuckin friends That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker (take money) West side!! Bad Boy killers (take money) You know the realest is niggaz (take money) We bring it to you (take money) Verse One: Tupac First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim West side when we ride come equipped with game You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife We bust on Bad Boy niggaz fucked for life Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark ass bitches We keep on comin' while we runnin for ya jewels steady gunnin, keep on bustin at the fools, you know the rules Little Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave ya cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased Lil Kim, don't fuck around with real G's Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off tha street, so fuck peace I let them niggas know it's on for life So let the West side ride tonight hahahah Bad Boy murdered on wax, and killed Fuck wit' me and get ya caps peeled, you know ... see ... Chorus: Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uhh Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace NIGGA, I hit em' up... Interlude: Tupac Check this out, you muthafuckas know what time it is I don't even know why I'm on this track ya'll nigguz ain't even on my level I'ma let my little homies ride on you bitch made-ass bad boy bitches -- deal with it!! Verse Two: Get out the way yo, get out the way yo Biggie Smallz just got dropped Little Moo, pass the Mac, and let me hit him in his back Frank White need to get spanked right, for settin tracks little accident murderer, and I ain't never heard-a ya Poisinous gats attack when I'm servin ya Spank the shank ya whole style when I dank Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam you in the pavement Puffy weaker that a fuckin rocka wanna do, nigga and, I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you, nigga With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer ya clout, pretty sour I get packages every hour and hit em up Chorus Verse Three: Tupac Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel this aint no freestyle battle, all you niggaz gettin killed with ya mouths open tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hoping smokin dope it's like a sherm high Niggaz think they learned to fly But they burned muthafucka, you deserve to die Talkin bout you gettin money, but its funny to me All you niggaz living bummy, while you fuckin' wit me I'm a self made milionare Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, hahaha Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on my couch and beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house, ahh Now its all about Versacci, you copied my style Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it, and smiled Now I'm bout to set the record straight, with my AK I'm still the thug you love to hate Motherfucker, I hit em up Verse Four: I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you herbs Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease I bring you fake G's to your knees Coppin pleas cuz this ain't your area Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up? Get ya lil Junior Whopper click smoked up, what the fuck is you STUPID?!?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn with my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block with 15 shots cock glock to your knot Outlaw mafia click movin up another notch And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped All your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and locked Verse Four: Youse a, beat biter, a Pac s |
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