Genius Brasil Traduções - 2Pac ft. Outlawz - Hit 'Em Up (Tradução) lyrics

[Produced By Johnny J] [Intro: 2Pac] I ain't got no motherf**ing friends That's why I f**ed your b**h you fat motherf**er West Side, Bad Boy k**ers You know who the realest is We bring it too Take money, take money [Verse 1: 2Pac] First off, f** your b**h and the clique 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 Boys, n***as f**ed for life Plus Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-a** b**hes We keep on coming while we running for your j**els Steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools You know the rules Lil' Cease go ask you homie how I'll leave you 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 your ugly a** off the streets So f** peace I'll let them n***as know it's on for life Don't let the Westside ride the night Bad Boys murdered on wax and k**ed f** with me and get your caps peeled You know [Hook: 2Pac] Grab your Glocks when you see 2pac Call the cops when you see 2Pac Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish Now you about to feel the wrath of a menace n***a I hit em up [Interlude: 2Pac] Check this out You motherf**ers know what time it is I don't know why I'm even on this track You all n***as ain't even on my level I'm going to let my little homies Ride on you b**h-made a** Bad Boys b**hes [Verse 2: Hussein Fatal] Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo Biggie Smalls just got dropped Little Moo' pa** the Mac And let me hit em in his back Frank White needs to get spanked right For setting traps Little accident-murderer And I ain't never heard of you Poisonous gats attack when I'm serving you Spank you, shank your whole style when I gank Guard your rank, cause I'm a slam your a** in the paint Puffy weaker than the f**in' block I'm running through, n***a And I'm smoking Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, n***a With the ready-power tucked in my Guess Under my Eddie Bauer Your clout petty/sour I push packages every hour, I hit em up [Hook: 2Pac] [Verse 3: 2Pac] Peep how we do it Keep it real as penitentiary steel This ain't no freestyle battle All you n***as getting k**ed with your mouths open Trying to come up off of me, you in the clouds hoping Smoking dope, it's like a sherm high n***as think they learned to fly But they burn, motherf**er, you deserve to die Talking about you getting money But it's funny to me All you n***as living bummy Why you f**ing with me? I'm a self-made millionaire! Thug livin', out of 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 5 shots couldn't drop me: I took it and smiled Now I'm back to set the record straight With my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hate Motherf**er I'll hit em up [Verse 4: Kadafi] 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 [Verse 5: E.D.I. Mean] 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! [Outro: 2Pac] Now you tell me who won I see them, they run They don't wanna see us Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique dressing up trying to be us How the f** they gonna be the mob when we always on our job? We millionaires, k**ing ain't fair but somebody got to do it Oh yeah, Mobb Deep: you wanna f** with us You little young-a** motherf**ers Don't one of you n***as got sickle-cell or something You're f**ing with me, n***a You f** around and catch a seizure or a heart attack 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 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