2Pac (Tupac Shakur) - Hit 'em Up (feat. Outlawz) Songtexte

So I fucked your bitch you fat mutha-fucka
(Take Money)
West Side, bad boys killers
(Take Money)
You know who the realist is niggas we bring it to
(Take Money)


First off, I fuck your bitch and the click you claim
West side when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa but, I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boys niggas fuck for Life
Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak
Hearts I rip Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming while we running for yah jewels Steady gunning
Keep on busting at them fools you know the rules
Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll leave yah
Cut your young ass up see yah in pieces
Now be deceased little Kim
Don't fuck with around real ass 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 west side ride the night
Bad Boys murdered on wax and kill
Fuck with me and get your caps peeled
You know, see

Chorus:
Grab your glocks when you see Tupac
Call the cops when you see Tupac, Uhh
Who shot me but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

Check this out
You mutha-fuckas 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 yah
Bitch made ass Bad Boys bitches
(ahh yo, yo, hold the fuck up)

Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped little move pass the mac
And let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right
For setting up traps little accident murderers
And I ain't never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack when I'm serving yah
Spank the shank your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank 'cause I'm a slam your ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block I'm running through nigga
And I'm smoking Junior Mafia in front of yah nigga
With the ready power tucked in my Guess
Under my Eddie Bauer your clout petty sour
I push packages ever hour I hit 'em up

Chorus:
Grab your glocks when you see Tupac
Call the cops when you see Tupac, Uhh
Who shot me but,your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, We hit 'em up

Peep how we do it keep it real
Its penitentary steel this ain't no freestyle battle
All you niggas getting killed with your mouths open
Tryin' to come up off of me you and the clouds hoping
Smoking dope it's like a Shermine
Niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn mutha-fucka you deserve to die
Talking about you getting money but its funny to me
All you niggas living bummy while you fucking with me?
I'm a self made Millioniare thug livin', out of prison
Pistols in the Air (Air)
Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the bitch to let you sleep on the house
Now its 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 A-K
I'm still the thug that you love to hate
Mutha-fucka I'll Hit 'Em Up

I'm from N.W. New Jers. where plenty of murders occurs
No points to come we bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees
Copin' pleas with these Little Kim is yah
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 fifteen shot cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw Mafia click moving up another knotch
And your pops? and get dropped and mopped
And all your fake ass east coast props
Brainstormed and locked

You's a B-writer Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
So fill the Alazhay with a chaser
'bout to get murdered for the paper
E.D.I I mean post the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke
Toting smoke, we ain't no mutha-fuckin' 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 gottem crossed as soon as the funk is boping off
Nigga, I hit 'em up

Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run
They don't wanna see us
Whole Junior Mafia click dressing up to be us
How the fuck they gonna be the Mobb?
When we always on out job
We millionaire's killing ain't fair
But somebody got to do it

Oh yah Mobb Deep you wanna fuck with us
You Little young ass mutha-fuckas
Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something
You fucking with me, nigga?
You fuck around and catch a siezure 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 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 is how we gon' do this

Fuck Mobb Deep, Fuck Biggie
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a motherfuckin crew
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy
Then fuck you too. Chino XL, fuck you too
All you mother fuckers
Fuck you too
(Take money, take money)

All of y'all motherfuckers
Fuck you, die slow motherfucker
My fo' fo' make sure all yo' kids don't grow
You motherfuckers can't be us or see us
We motherfuckin' Thug Life riders
West Side till' we die
Out here in California, nigga
We warned ya'
We'll bomb on you motherfuckers
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob
Ain't nuttin' but killers
And the real niggas, all you motherfuckers feel us.
Our shit goes tripple and four quadruple
You niggas laugh cuz our staff got guns under they motherfuckin' belts
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
You niggas can't feel it
We the realist
Fuck 'em.
We Bad Boy killas.