2pac - Hit Em Up lyrics

I ain't got no motherf**in friends That's why I f**ed yo' b**h, you fat motherf**er (Take money) West side, Bad Boy k**ers (take money) You know who the realest is n***az we bring it to you (take money) (Take money) First off, f** your b**h and the click you claim Westside when we ride come equipped with game You claim to be a player but I f**ed your wife We bust on Bad Boy n***az f**ed for life Plus Puffy tryin' ta see me weak hearts I rip Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. Some mark-a** b**hes We keep on comin' while we runnin' for yo' j**els Steady gunnin, keep on bustin at them fools, you know the rules Lil' Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave ya Cut your young a** up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased Lil' Kim, don't f** around with real G's Quick to snatch yo' ugly a** off the streets, so f** peace I let them n***az know it's on for life So let the Westside ride tonight Bad Boy murdered on wax and k**ed f** wit' me and get yo' caps peeled, you know, see Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uh Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace n***a, I hit em' up Check this out, you motherf**ers know what time it is (take money) I don't even know why I'm on this track (take money) Y'all n***az ain't even on my level I'ma let my little homies ride on you (take money) b**h made-a** bad boy b**hes deal with it! Get out the way yo, get out the way yo Biggie Smalls just got dropped Little Moo, pa** the mac, and let me hit him in his back Frank White need to get spanked right, for settin' traps Little accident murderers, and I ain't never heard-a ya Poisinous 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**in' block I'm runnin through n***a And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. In front of you n***a With the ready power tuckin' my Guess under my Eddie Bauer Ya clout petty sour, I get packages every hour to hit 'em up Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uh Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace n***a, I hit em' up Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel This ain't no freestyle battle All you n***az gettin k**ed with ya mouths open Tryin' to come up offa me, you in the clouds hopin' Smokin dope it's like a sherm high n***az think they learned to fly But they burn motherf**er, you deserve to die Talkin' bout you gettin' money but it's funny to me All you n***az livin' bummy why you f**in' with me? I'm a self made millionaire Thug livin' out a prison, pistols in the air Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch And beg a b**h 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 bout to set the record straight With my AK I'm still the thug that you love to hate Motherf**er, 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 Little Ceas' I'll bring you fake G's to your knees Copping pleas in de Janeiro Little Kim, is you coked up or doped up? Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up What the f**, is you stupid? I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn With my click looting, shooting and polluting your block With a 15-shot co*ked Glock to your knot Outlaw MAFIA clique moving up another notch And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped And 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** but a faker Softer than Alize with a chaser About to get murdered for the paper E.D.I Amin approach the scene of the caper Like a loc, with Little Ceas' in a choke Gun totin' smoke. We ain't no motherf**ing joke Thug Life, n***as better be known Be approaching in the wide open, gun smoking No need for hoping, it's a battle lost I got em crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off n***a, I hit em up! Now you tell me who won I see them, they run They don't wanna see us (take money) Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. Clique Dressing up trying to be us (take money) How the f** they gonna be the mob when we always on our job? (Take money) We millionaires k**ing ain't fair but somebody got to do it (take money) Oh yeah, Mobb Deep (take money) you wanna f** with us You little young-a** motherf**ers (take money) Don't one of you n***as got sickle-cell or something (take money) You're f**ing with me, n***a you f** around and catch a seizure or a heart attack (take money) You better back the f** up before you get smacked the f** up This is how we do it on our side Any of you n***as from New York that want to bring it, bring it But we ain't singing, we bringing drama f** you and your motherf**ing mama We're gonna k** all you motherf**ers Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherf**ing opinion Well this is how we gonna do this f** Mobb Deep, f** Biggie f** Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherf**ing crew And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then f** you too Chino XL, f** you too All you motherf**ers, f** you too (take money, take money) All of y'all mother f**ers, f** you, die slow, motherf**er My .44 make sure all y'all kids don't grow You motherf**ers can't be us or see us We motherf**in' Thug Life-riders, Westside 'til we die Out here in California, n***a, we warned ya We'll bomb on you motherf**ers. We do our job You think you mob? n***a, we the motherf**in' mob Ain't nothing but k**ers and the real n***as All you motherf**ers feel us Our sh** goes triple and 4-quadruple (Take money) You n***as laugh 'cause our staff got Guns under they motherf**in' belts You know how it is, when we drop records they felt You n***as can't feel it, we the realest f** 'em, we Bad Boy-k**ers