Saul Williams - 2Pac's “Hit 'Em Up” lyrics

[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 Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll leave you Cut your young a** up, leave you in pieces Now be deceased Little 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 So 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] 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] 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 MAFIA 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] [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 While you f**ing with me I'm a self-made millionaire! Thug livin', out of prison Pistols in the air Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch And beg the 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 A-K, I'm still the thug that you love to hate Motherf**er I'll hit em up [Kadafi] I'm from N E W Jers' Where plenty of murders occurs No points to come, 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 [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 to be us How the f** they gonna be the mob when we always on out 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 All of y'all mother f**ers, f** you, die slow, motherf**er My .44 make sure all your 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