artis / band: a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

lirik lagu 2pac – hit ’em up (featuring tha outlawz)

Loading...

that’s why i f-cked your b-tch you fat motherf-cker (take money)
west side, bad boy killers (take money)
(you know) you know who the realist is n-gg-s we bring it to
(take money) (take money)

first off, f-ck your b-tch and the clique you claim
west side when we ride come equipped with game
you claim to be a player but i f-cked your wife
we bust on bad boys n-gg-s f-ck for life
plus puffy tryin’ to see me weak hearts i rip
biggie smalls and junior m.a.f.i.a. some mark -ss b-tches
we keep on coming while we running for your jewels
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 -ss up, see you in pieces
now be deceased
little kim, don’t f-ck around with real g’s
quick to sn-tch your ugly -ss, off the streets
so f-ck peace
i’ll let them n-gg-s know it’s on for life
don’t let the west side ride the night (ha ha)
bad boy murdered on wax and kill
f-ck with me and get your caps peeled
you know, see
grab your glocks when you see 2pac
call the cops when you see 2pac, uh
who shot me, but your punks didn’t finish
now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
n-gg-, i hit ’em up

check this out (take money)
you motherf-ckers know what time it is
i don’t even know why i’m on this track (take money)
y’all n-gg-s ain’t even on my level
i’mma let my little homies (take money)
ride on you b-tch made -ss bad boy b-tches (feel) (take money)
get out the way yo
get out the way yo
biggie smalls just got dropped
little moo, p-ss the mac
and let me hit ’em in his back
frank white need to get spanked right
for settin’ traps
little accident murderers
and i ain’t never heard of you
poisonous gats attack when i’m serving you
spank the shank, your whole style when i gank
guard your rank ’cause i’mma slam your -ss in the paint
puffy weaker than the f-ckin’ block i’m running through n-gg-
and i’m smoking junior m.a.f.i.a. in front of you n-gg-
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
grab your glocks when you see 2pac
call the cops when you see 2pac, uh
who shot me, but your punks didn’t finish
now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
n-gg-, we hit ’em up
peep how we do it keep it real its penitentiary steel
this ain’t no freestyle battle all you n-gg-s getting killed
with your mouths open
tryin’ to come up off of me you in the clouds hoping
smoking dope it’s like a sherm high n-gg-s think they learned to fly
but they burn motherf-cker you deserve to die
talking ’bout you getting money but it’s funny to me
all you n-gg-s living b-mmy while you f-cking with me
i’mma self made millionaire
thug livin’, out of prison pistols in the air (ha ha)
biggie remember when i used to let you sleep on the couch
and beg a b-tch to let you sleep in the house
now it’s all about versace you copy my style
five 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-cker i hit ’em up
i’m from n e w jers
where plenty murders occurs
no points to come we bring drama to all you herds
now go check the scenario
little ceas’ i’ll bring you fake g’s to your knees
coppin’ pleas in de janeiro
little kim is you c-ked up or doped up
get your little junior whopper clique smoked up
what the f-ck? is you stupid?
i take money, crash and mash through brooklyn
with my clique looting, shooting, and polluting your block
with fifteen shot, c-cked glock to your knot
outlaw mafia clique moving up another notch
and your pop stars popped, get mopped and dropped
and all your fake -ss east coast props
brainstormed and locked
you’s a b-writer
a pac style taker
i’ll tell you to your face, you ain’t sh-t but a faker
softer than alize with a chaser
’bout to get murdered for the paper
e.d.i. mean to post the scene of the caper
like a loc, with little ceasar in a choke
gun toting smoke
we ain’t no motherf-ckin’ joke
thug life, n-gg-s better be known
be approaching
in the wide open, gun smoking
no need for hoping it’s a battle lost
i gottem crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off
n-gg-, i hit ’em up
now you tell me who won
i see them, they run (ha ha ha)
they don’t wanna see us (take money)
whole junior m.a.f.i.a. clique
dressing up trying to be us (take money)
how the f-ck they gonna be the mob?
when we always on our job (take money)
we millionaire’s
killing ain’t fair
but somebody got to do it (take money)

oh yeah mobb deep uh (take money)
you wanna f-ck with us
you little young -ss motherf-ckers (take money)
don’t one of you n-gg-s got sickle-cell or something (take money)
you f-cking with me, n-gg-?
you f-ck around have a seizure or a heart-attack (take money)
you better back the f-ck up
before you get smacked the f-ck up
this is how we do it on our side
any of you n-gg-s from new york that want to bring it, bring it
but we ain’t singing, we bringing drama
f-ck you and your mother f-cking mama
we gonna kill all you motherf-ckers
now when i came out, i told you it was just about biggie
then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother f-cking opinion
well this is how we gonna’ do this:
f-ck mobb deep, f-ck biggie,
f-ck bad boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother f-cking crew
and if you want to be down with bad boy, then f-ck you too
chino xl, f-ck you too
all you motherf-ckers, f-ck you too
(take money, take money)
all of y’all mother f-ckers, f-ck you, die slow motherf-cker
my .44 make sure all your kids don’t grow
you motherf-ckers can’t be us or see us
we motherf-ckin’ thug life riders west side till’ we die
out here in california, n-gg-, we warned ya’
we’ll bomb on you motherf-ckers
we do our job
you think you the mob, n-gg-, we the motherf-ckin’ mob
ain’t nothing but killers and the real n-gg-s, all you motherf-ckers feel us
our sh-ts go triple and four quadruple (take money)
you n-gg-s laugh ’cause our staff got guns under they motherf-ckin’ belts
you know how it is and we drop records they felt
you n-gg-s can’t feel it
we the realist
f-ck ’em
we bad boy killers