f**
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 the realest is n***as
(take money) We bring it to you
(take money)
Verse One: 2Pac
First off, f** your b**h and the clique you claim
West side 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***as f** for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak, hearts I rip
Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark a** b**hes
We keep on comin' while we runnin for ya j**els
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 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 tha street, so f** peace
I let them n***as know it's on for life
So let the West side ride tonight hahahah
Bad Boy murdered on wax, and k**ed
f** wit' me and get yo caps peeled, you know ... see ...
Chorus:
Grab ya Glocks, when you see 2Pac
Call the cops, when you see 2Pac, uhh
Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish
Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace
ni**a, I hit em' up...
Interlude: 2Pac
Check this out, you muthaf**as know what time it is
I don't even know why I'm on this track
Ya'll n***as ain't even on my level
I'ma let my little homies ride on you
b**h made-a** bad boy b**hes, feel it!
Verse Two: Fatal
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
Biggie Smallz 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 murderer, and I ain't never heard-a ya
Poisonous gats attack when I'm servin ya
Spank ya shank ya whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam you a** in the paint
Puffy weaker than the f**in block I run on you n***a
And I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you n***a
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
Grab ya Glocks, when you see 2Pac
Call the cops, when you see 2Pac, uhh
Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish
Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace
ni**a, we hit em' up...
Verse Three: 2Pac
Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle, all you n***as gettin
k**ed with ya mouths open
Tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hoping
Smokin dope it's like a sherm high
n***as think they learned to fly
But they burn muthaf**a, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money, but its funny to me
All you n***as living bummy, why you're f**in' with 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 tha couch
And beg the b**h to let you sleep in the house, ahh
Now its 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
Verse Four: Kadafi
I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur
No point to comment , we bringin drama to all you herbs
Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin pleas in de janeiro
Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?
Get ya lil Junior whopper clique smoked up, what the f**
Is you STUPID?!?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my clique lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block
With 15 shots co*ked Glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia clique movin up another notch
And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped
All your fake-a** east coast props brainstormed and locked
Verse Five: Idi Amin
You is a, b writer, a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you ain't sh** but a faker
Softer than Alizee with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi Amin approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little ceaser in a choke hold
Totin smoke, we ain't no muthaf**in joke
Thug Life, n***as betta be known, we approachin
In the wide open, guns smokin
No need for hopin its a battle lost, I got em crossed
Soon as the funk is poppin 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. click dressin up tryin ta be us
How the f** they gonna be the mob when we always on our job
We millionaires, k**in ain't fair but somebody gotta 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 somethin?
You f**in with me n***a you f** around
And have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f** up, before you get smacked the f** up
That's how we do it on our side
Any of you n***as from New York that wanna bring it, bring it
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama
f** you and your motherf**in mama
We 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**in opinion
Well this how we gonna do this
f** Mobb Deep
f** Biggie
f** Bad Boy as a staff record label
And as a motherf**in crew
And if you wanna 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)
Alla y'all motherf**ers, f** you die slow motherf**er
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You motherf**ers can't be us or see us
We the motherf**in Thug Life riders West side till we die!
Out here in California n***a we warn 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 nuttin but k**ers and fa'real n***as
All you motherf**ers feel us
Our sh**'s going triple and four-quadruple
(take money)
You n***as laugh coz our staff got guns in they
Motherf**ers belt, you know how it is
When we drop records they felt
You n***as can't feel it
We the realest, fu*k EM, we Bad Boy k**az *echoes*