Hit 'Em Up
(专辑: Greatest Hits - 1998)
[2Pac:] I
ain't got no motherfucking friends That's why I
fucked your bitch, you fat motherfucker Take Money West Side, Bad Boy killers Take Money You know who the
realest is We bring it too Take money, take money [2Pac:] First off, fuck your bitch and the
clique 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 Boys, niggas fucked for life Plus Puffy trying to see me, weak hearts I
rip Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-ass bitches We keep on coming while we running for your jewels Steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools You know the
rules Lil' Caesar go ask your homie how I'll leave you Cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased Little Kim, don't fuck around with real G's Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the
streets So fuck peace! I'll let them niggas know it's on for life Don't let the
Westside ride the
night haha Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed Fuck with me and get your caps peeled You know [2Pac:] See, grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac Call the
cops when you see 2Pac, oh Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish Now you about to feel the
wrath of a
menace Nigga, I
hit 'em up [2Pac:] Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is I
don't know why I'm even on this track Y'all niggas ain't even on my level I'm going to let my little homies ride on you bitch-made ass Bad Boy bitches Take money [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 needs to get spanked right for setting traps Little accident-murderer, and I
ain't never heard of ya Poisonous gats attack when I'm serving ya Spank you, shank your whole style when I
gank Guard your rank cause I'ma slam your ass in the
paint Puffy weaker than the
fucking block I'm running through, nigga And I'm smoking Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, nigga 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 [2Pac:] Grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac Call the
cops when you see 2Pac, oh Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish Now you about to feel the
wrath of a
menace Nigga, I
hit 'em up [2Pac:] Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel This ain't no freestyle battle All you niggas getting killed with your mouths open Trying to come up off of me, you in the
clouds hoping Smoking dope, it's like a
sherm high Niggas think they learned to fly But they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to die Talking about you getting money, but it's funny to me All you niggas living bummy – why you fucking with me? I'm a
self-made millionaire Thug living, out of 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? Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style Five shots couldn't drop me, I
took it and smiled Now I'm back to set the
record straight With my AK, I'm still the
thug that you love to hate Motherfucker, I'll hit 'em up [Kadafi:] I'm from N-E-W Jers' where plenty of murders occurs No points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs Now go check the
scenario: Lil' Cease I'll bring you fake G's to your knees Copping pleas in de Janeiro Little Kim, is you coked up or doped up? Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up What the
fuck, is you stupid? I
take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn With my click looting, shooting and polluting your block With a
15-shot cocked Glock to your knot Outlaw Mafia clique moving up another notch And your Pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped And all your fake ass east coast props Brainstormed and locked [E.D.I. Mean:] Jui-cer You's a
beat biter, a
Pac style taker I'll tell you to your face you ain't shit but a
faker Softer than Alize with a
chaser About to get murdered for the
paper E.D.I. Mean approach the
scene of the
caper Like a
loc with Little Ceas' in a
choke Gun toting smoke. We ain't no motherfucking joke Thug Life, niggas better be known Be approaching in the
wide open, gun smoking No need for hoping, it's a
battle lost I
got 'em crossed as soon as the
funk is bopping off Nigga, I
hit 'em up! [2Pac:] Now you tell me who won I
see them, they run haha 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
fuck they gonna be the
mob when we always on our job? We millionaires Killing ain't fair, but somebody got to do it Oh yeah, Mobb Deep: you wanna fuck with us? You little young-ass motherfuckers Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something? You're fucking with me, nigga You fuck around and catch a
seizure or a
heart attack You better back the
fuck up Before you get smacked the
fuck up This is how we do it on our side Any of you niggas from New York that want to bring it: Bring it! But we ain't singing, we bringing drama Fuck you and your motherfucking mama We gon' 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
mother fucking opinion Well, this is how we gonna do this: Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie, fuck Bad Boy as a
staff, record label and as a
motherfucking crew! And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too! Chino XL: fuck you too! All you motherfuckers, fuck you too! (Take money, take money) All of y'all motherfuckers, fuck you; die slow, motherfucker My .44 make sure all y'all kids don't grow! You motherfuckers can't be us or see us We motherfucking Thug Life-riders, Westside til we die! Out here in California, nigga, we warned ya We'll bomb on you motherfucker! We do our job! You think you mob? Nigga, we the
motherfucking mob Ain't nothing but killers and the
real niggas All you motherfuckers feel us Our shit goes triple and 4-quadruple Take money You niggas laugh cause our staff got guns under they motherfucking belts You know how it is, when we drop records they felt You niggas can't feel it, we the
realest Fuck 'em, we Bad Boy-killers We killers, we killers, we killers