2Pac - DEATH ROW-HIT' EM UP | Текст песни

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• 2Pac
• DEATH ROW-HIT' EM UP

Intro: zeb
I ain't got no motherfuckin friends
That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker
(take money) WEESSSSSSTTTTIIIIIDE!!
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
WESTSIDE when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boy niggas fuck for life
Plus Puffy tryna 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 them fools, you know the rules
Little Caeser, go ask ya homie how I leave ya
cut your young ass up, see you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil Kim, don't fuck around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off tha streetz, so fuck peace
I let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the West side ride the night (haha)
Bad Boys 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 niggaz ain't even on my level
I'ma let my lil homies ride on you
bitch made-ass bad boy bitches, deal with it!!

Verse Two: Fatal
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 traps
little accident murderer, and I ain't never heard-a ya
Poiseless gats attack when I'm servin ya
spank the shank ya whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam ya ass in the pang
Puffy weaker than a fuckin block i'm running through nigga
and, I'll smoking junior mafia in front of you, nigga
With the ready power tuckin my Gats under my Eddie Bauer
ya clout, petty sour I push packages every hour
I 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 shermine
Niggaz think they learned to fly
But they burn muthafucka, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money but its funny to me
all you niggaz livin bummy why you fuckin with me
I'm a self-made millionaire
Thug Livin outta prison, pistols in the air,(hahaha)
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
and beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house,(ha)
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 you love to hate
Motherfucker, I hit em up

Verse Four: Kadafi
I'm from N-E-W Jerz., where plenty murders occurz
No point to come, we bringin drama to all you heardz
Local check the scenario, Little Caes'
I bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin pleas to 'De Janeiro'
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 popstars popped get dropped and mopped
All your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and locked

Verse Five: Edi
Youse a, beat biter, a Pac style taker
I'll tell it to ya face u aint nuttin shit but a faker
Softer

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