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Hit 'Em Up |
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Artist: 2Pac f/ Outlawz
Album: How Do U Want It 12"
Song: 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 style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you aint shit but a faker
Softer than Alize with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi Amin approach the scene
Write a caper, like a loc, with little ceaser in a choke hold
Totin smoke, we aint no muthafuckin joke
Thug Life, niggaz betta be knowin, we approchin
in the wide open, guns smokin
no need for hopin its a battle lost, I got across
Soon as the funk was poppin off
Nigga I hit em up
Outro: Tupac
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run
They don't wanna see us
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. click dressin up tryin ta be us
How the fuck 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 fuck with us?
You little young ass motherfuckers
Don't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin?
You fuckin with me nigga you fuck around
and have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the fuck up, fore you get smacked the fuck up
That's how we do it on our side
Any of you niggaz from New York that wanna bring it bring it
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama
Fuck you and your motherfuckin mama
We gonna kill all you motherfuckers
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherfuckin opinion
Well this how we gonna do this
Fuck Mobb Deep
Fuck Biggie
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff record label
and as a motherfuckin crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy
Then fuck you too
Chino XL, fuck you too
All you motherfuckers, fuck you too
(take money)
(take money)
Alla y'all motherfuckers, fuck you die slow motherfucker
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You motherfuckers can't be us or see us
We the motherfuckin Thug Life ridahs West side till we die!
Out here in California we warn ya we'll bomb on you motherfuckers
We do our job
You think you mob, nigga we the motherfuckin mob
Ain't nuttin but killers and the real niggaz
All you motherfuckers feel us
Our shit's going triple and four-quadruple
(take money)
You niggaz blast as our staff got guns at they
motherfuckers back, you know how it is
When we drop records they feel it
You niggaz can't feel it
We the realest, FUCK EM, we Bad Boy killin *echoes*
Artist: 2Pac f/Outlawz & Storm
Album: Unreleased
Song: Hit em' up 2
[2pac]
niggas talk much shit, so much played shit
i fucked ya bitch cause shes easy to get, witness the hit
talk bad about a nigga when i got blasted
i hope you made a lil money while it lasted
i heard they call ya big poppa, nigga how ya figure
cause to me youll always be a phoney fat nigger.
i cant see you in vashachi, nigga you look ruff
scared as fuck if the guns would bust
now niggas stop i gotta listen to playa haters that r fakes
you bitch niggas are gettin blown away.
you crosseyed, down syndrome, crack baby
you and puffy are tough now thats crazy
i got you ass in my sight, niggas dieng tonight
we screamin, wwwwweeeeessssstttttsssssiiiiiddddddeeeee for life.
and i cant wait to see you niggas in traffic cause we gonna get em up
when you see me you better duck, nigga i hit'em up
[chrous 2pac]
grab ya glocks when ya see tupac
call the cops when ya see tupac
who shot me but ya punks didnt finish
now ya bought to feel the wrath of a minace
nigga i hit'em up.
[outlaw 1]
tought to bust my thang when i was younger
i swear to god i ill leave you sticky as a recent cummer.
niggas run up, mo murder for the money
got caught up trying to make a fake record, you should have checked it
i bet in ya life, youll never gonna see a nigga like me wanting to fight on
t.v.
i ratha release on the streets, and put a slug in you bust ass niggas so
please
i got some niggas back in jersey, that would ratha be jackin cars and robbin
bitch niggas like yall for emergencys.
lets take it back to the westside,
niggas sure gonna be ridahs, cant touch thug life niggas, we always multipli.
see you on the trigger while im standing bye.
we dont trust'em, they might be the first that we gonna bust on
just label me a badboy killa,
you mobb deep bitches gonna feel us when we bringin it illa.
[outlaw 2]
im a bbk all day, aint no frontin, aint no trippin
stricly bad boy killin.shoot that ass like a swillin.
let this muthafucka drop down, fixing to throw down
you niggas gonna hop down.
sendin a shout out, to all my niggas
our enimies we got in the game.
you gonna get yo ass shot simple and plain.
yall know the name,drama, through the whole line up.
bustin crazy cause we dont give a fuck,
we gonna have to hit they ass on up.
[outlaw 3]
get out the way yo, get out the way yo
biggie smalls just got shot.
and im a true nigga, stormin,
let me catch ya fatass in california,
i catch you on any eastcoast corner and yo ass is a goner.
puffy hit the fuckin block, ill run at you nigga.
and ill smoke the junior mafia in front of you nigga.
with the ready power, ducked in clothes, in my eddie baher
you clowns petty style, ill send bomb packages every hour.
my guns blast as i pass ,fat boy,
i get the cash,handle it fast, thats yo ass shorty.
i gotta team of ridahs with cobras,we comin over
never sober.
[outlaw 4]
im on a twelve o' clock flight to brooklyn.
and im lookin, for the single nigga ready to get his life tooken.
so were your killings at, you fake trick.
edi will leave your coward ass striped and a full clip in yo stomach.
you been all year nigga runnin,poppin every coward and every nigga behind
you.
i made it about impossible for you niggas to escape.
another murder or visit to the hospital, i cant wait.
meet up wit all you bitches in the streets,
so i can leave all you cowards coverd in white sheets.
when we hit'em up.
[storm]
if ya a big bad mothafucka, come step to this
i got ya life in the hit, and one hidden in the clip.
who wanna test this, to the 1 2 3, bound to get they ass put under.
cause the storm is bringin nothing but thunder.
who's the bomb nigga, quick to feel that kill that sorry nigga
situation na na, whos the bigga trigga.
i approached the 2 G's, you thought i was easy
now you begging on ya knees, pleasey.
� 1997 
/ Webmastered by Double J
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