2pac - Hit 'Em Up (live concert) | Текст песни

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• 2pac
• Hit 'Em Up (live concert)

[Intro: Tupac]
I ain't got no motherfuckin friends
That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker
(take money) West side!!
Bad Boy killers
(take money) You know who 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 niggaz fucked for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-ass bitches
We keep on comin while we runnin for yo' jewels
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 ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil' Kim, don't fuck around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace
I let them niggaz know it's on for life
So let the Westside ride tonight - hahahah
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
Fuck wit' me and get yo' 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 motherfuckers know what time it is
I don't even know why I'm on this track
Y'all niggaz ain't even on my level
I'ma let my little homies ride on you
bitch made-ass bad boy bitches -- deal with it!!

[Verse Two: Hussein Fatal]
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls 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 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 ass in the paint
Puffy weaker than the fuckin block I'm runnin through nigga
And I'm smokin Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you nigga
With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
Ya clout petty sour, I get packages every hour to hit 'em up

[Chorus]

[Verse Three: Tupac]
Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel
this ain't no freestyle battle, all you niggaz gettin killed
with ya mouths open
Tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hopin
Smokin dope it's like a sherm high niggaz think they learned to fly
But they burn motherfucker, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money but it's funny to me
All you niggaz livin bummy why you fuckin with me?
I'm a self made millionare
Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, haha
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
and beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house, hah
Now its all about Versacci, 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
Motherfucker, I hit 'em up

[Verse Four: Khadafi]
I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occurs
No points in common, we bringin drama to all you herbs
Knuckle check the scenario, Lil' Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees, coppin pleas you Degenario
Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?
Get ya lil' Jr. 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 your box top spots get mopped and dropped
and all your fake-ass East coast props brainstormed and locked

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