Hit 'em up

Hit 'em up Lyrics

Intro: Tupac

I ain't got no motherf**kin friend
That's why I f**ked yo' b**ch, you fat motherf**ker
(take money) West side!!
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, f**k your b**ch and the click you claim
West side when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I f**ked your wife
We bust on Bad Boy niggaz f**ked for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak, hearts I rip
Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark ass b**ches
We keep on comin' while we runnin for ya jewels
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 ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil Kim, don't f**k around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off tha street, so f**k peace
I let them niggas know it's on for life
So let the West side ride tonight hahahah
Bad Boy murdered on wax, and killed
f**k wit' me and get ya cap spilt, 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 muthaf**kas 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 little homies ride on you
b**ch made-ass bad boy b**ches, 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 tracks
little accident murderer, and I ain't never heard-a ya
Poisinous gats attack when I'm servin ya
Spank the shank ya whole style when I dank
Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam you ass in the pavement
Puffy weaker that a f**kin rocka wanna do, nigga
and, I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you, nigga
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 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...

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 sherm high
Niggaz think they learned to fly
But they burned muthaf**ka, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money, but its funny to me
All you niggaz living bummy, why you're f**kin' 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 my couch
and beg the b**ch to let you sleep in the house, ahh
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
Motherf**ker, I hit em up

Verse Four: Kadafi

I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur
No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you herbs
Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin pleas cuz this ain't your area
Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?
Get ya lil Junior Whopper click smoked up, what the f**k
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 bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped
All your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and locked

Verse Five: Idi Amin

Youse a, beat biter, a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you aint sh*t but a faker
Softer than Alizee with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi Amin approach the scene
Write a caper, like a loc, with little ceaser in a choke hold
Totin smoke, we aint no muthaf**kin joke
Thug Life, niggaz betta be knowin, we approachin
in the wide open, guns smokin
no need for hopin its a battle lost, I got across
Soon as the funk was poppin off
Nigga I hit em up

Outro: Tupac

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**k they gonna be the mob when we always on our job
We millionaires, killin ain't fair but somebody gotta do it
Oh yeah, Mobb Deep, you wanna f**k with us?
You little young ass motherf**kers
Don't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin?
You f**kin with me nigga you f**k around
and have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f**k up, before you get smacked the f**k up
That's how we do it on our side
Any of you niggaz from New York that wanna bring it, bring it
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama
f**k you and your motherf**kin mama
We gonna kill all you motherf**kers
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherf**kin opinion
Well this how we gonna do this
f**k Mobb Deep
f**k Biggie
f**k Bad Boy as a staff record label
and as a motherf**kin crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy
Then f**k you too
Chino XL, f**k you too
All you motherf**kers, f**k you too

(take money)
(take money)
Alla y'all motherf**kers, f**k you die slow motherf**ker
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You motherf**kers can't be us or see us
We the motherf**kin Thug Life rides West side till we die!
Out here in California we warn ya we'll bomb on you motherf**kers
We do our job
You think you mob, nigga we the motherf**kin mob
Ain't nuttin but killers and the real niggaz
All you motherf**kers feel us
Our sh*t's going triple and four-quadruple
(take money)
You niggaz laugh coz our staff got guns at they
motherf**kers belt, you know how it is
When we drop records they feel it
You niggaz can't feel it
We the realest, f**k EM, we Bad Boy killin *echoes*