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2Pac:Hit 'Em Up Lyrics

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Hit 'Em Up

This song is by 2Pac, features The Outlawz and appears on the album Greatest Hits (1998).

Original video
Fuck
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 the realest is niggaz
(Take money) We bring it to you
(Take money)

Tupac:
First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim
West side when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boy niggaz fuck for life
Plus Puffy tryin' ta 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 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 fuck around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off tha street, so fuck 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
Fuck wit' me and get yo caps peeled, you know... see...

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...

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 little homies ride on you
Bitch made-ass bad boy bitches, feel it!

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
Poisonous gats attack when I'm servin ya
Spank ya shank ya whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam you ass in the paint
Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block I run on you 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

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, we hit em' up...

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 hoping
Smokin dope it's like a sherm high
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 living bummy, why you're fuckin' with me
I'm a self made millionaire
Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, hahaha
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on tha couch
And beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house, ahh
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 that you love to hate
Motherfucker, I hit em up

Kadafi:
I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur
No point to comment , we bringin' drama to all you herbs
Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin pleas in de janeiro
Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?
Get ya lil Junior whopper clique smoked up, what the fuck
Is you stupid?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my clique lootin', shootin' and pollutin' ya block
With 15 shots cocked Glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia clique movin' up another notch
And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped
All your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and locked

Idi Amin:
You is a, b writer, a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you ain't shit but a faker
Softer than Alizee with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi Amin approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little ceaser in a choke hold
Totin smoke, we ain't no muthafuckin joke
Thug Life, niggaz betta be known, we approachin'
In the wide open, guns smokin'
No need for hopin' its a battle lost, I got em crossed
Soon as the funk is poppin' off
Nigga I hit em up

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 fuck 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 fuck with us?
You little young ass motherfuckers
Don't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin?
You fuckin' with me nigga you fuck around
And have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the fuck up, before you get smacked the fuck 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
Fuck you and your motherfuckin' mama
We gonna kill all you motherfuckers
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherfuckin' opinion
Well this how we gonna do this
Fuck Mobb Deep
Fuck Biggie
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff record label
And as a motherfuckin' crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy
Then fuck you too
Chino XL, fuck you too
All you motherfuckers, fuck you too

(Take money)
(Take money)
Alla y'all motherfuckers, fuck you die slow motherfucker
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You motherfuckers can't be us or see us
We the motherfuckin' Thug Life riders West side till we die!
Out here in California nigga we warn ya we'll bomb on you motherfuckers
We do our job
You think you mob, nigga we the motherfuckin mob
Ain't nuttin' but killers and fa'real niggaz
All you motherfuckers feel us
Our shit's going triple and four-quadruple
(Take money)
You niggaz laugh coz our staff got guns in they
Motherfuckers belt, you know how it is
When we drop records they felt
You niggaz can't feel it
We the realest, fuck em, we Bad Boy killaz

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