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I ain't got no motherfuckin friendsThat's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker(take money) West side!!Bad Boy killers(take money) You know who the realest is niggaz(take money) We bring it to you(take money)First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claimWestside when we ride come equipped with gameYou claim to be a player but I fucked your wifeWe bust on Bad Boy niggaz fucked for lifePlus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I ripBiggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-ass bitchesWe keep on comin while we runnin for yo' jewelsSteady gunnin, keep on bustin at them fools, you know the rulesLil' Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave yaCut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceasedLil' Kim, don't fuck around with real G'sQuick to snatch yo' ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peaceI let them niggaz know it's on for lifeSo let the Westside ride tonight - hahahahLetras de cancionesBad Boy murdered on wax and killedFuck wit' me and get yo' caps peeled, you know ... see ...Grab ya glocks, when you see TupacCall the cops, when you see Tupac, uhhWho shot me, but ya punks didn't finishNow ya bout to feel the wrath of a menaceNIGGA, I hit em' up...Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it isI don't even know why I'm on this trackY'all niggaz ain't even on my levelI'ma let my little homies ride on youbitch made-ass bad boy bitches -- deal with it!!Get out the way yo, get out the way yoBiggie Smalls just got droppedLittle Moo, pass the mac, and let me hit him in his backFrank White need to get spanked right, for settin trapsLittle accident murderers, and I ain't never heard-a yaPoisinous gats attack when I'm servin yaSpank ya shank ya whole style when I gankGuard your rank, cause I'ma slam your ass in the paintPuffy weaker than the fuckin block I'm runnin through niggaAnd I'm smokin Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you niggaWith the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie BauerYa clout petty sour, I get packages every hour to hit 'em upGrab ya glocks, when you see TupacCall the cops, when you see Tupac, uhhWho shot me, but ya punks didn't finishNow ya bout to feel the wrath of a menaceNIGGA, I hit em' up...Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steelthis ain't no freestyle battle, all you niggaz gettin killedwith ya mouths openTryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hopinSmokin dope it's like a sherm high niggaz think they learned to flyBut they burn motherfucker, you deserve to dieTalkin bout you gettin money but it's funny to meAll you niggaz livin bummy why you fuckin with me?I'm a self made millionareThug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, hahaBiggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couchand beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house, hahNow its all about Versacci, you copied my styleFive shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiledNow I'm bout to set the record straight, with my AKI'm still the thug that you love to hateMotherfucker, I hit 'em upI'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occursNo points in common, we bringin drama to all you herbsKnuckle check the scenario, Lil' CeaseI bring you fake G's to your knees, coppin pleas you DegenarioLil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?Get ya lil' Jr. Whopper click smoked up, what the fuckis you STUPID?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklynwith my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya blockwith 15 shots cock glock to your knotOutlaw mafia click movin up another notchAnd your box top spots get mopped and droppedand all your fake-ass East coast props brainstormed and lockedYouse a, beat biter, a Pac style takerI'll tell you to ya face you ain't shit but a fakerSofter than Alize with a chaserBout to get murdered for the paperEdi Amin approach the scene of the caper, like a locWith Lil' Ceaser in a choke, huh totin smokeWe ain't no motherfuckin joke Thug Life niggaz better be knowinWe approchin, in the wide open, guns smokinNo need for hopin it's a battle lost, I got 'em crossedAs soon as the funk was poppin off, nigga I hit 'em upNow you tell me who won? I see them, they runHehehehe, they don't wanna see usWhole Junior M.A.F.I.A. click dressin up tryin to be usHow the fuck they gon' be the mob when we always on our jobWe millionaires, killin ain't fair but somebody gotta do itOh yeah, Mobb Deep, you wanna fuck with us?You little young-ass motherfuckersDon't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin?You fuckin with me nigga you fuck aroundand have a seizure or a heart-attackYou better back the fuck up, 'fore you get smacked the fuck upThat's how we do it on our sideAny of you niggaz from New York that wanna bring it bring itBut we ain't singin, we bringin dramaFuck you and your motherfuckin mamaWe gon' kill all you motherfuckersNow when I came out I told you it was just about BiggieThen everybody had to open they mouth with a motherfuckin opinionWell this how we gon' do thisFuck Mobb Deep, Fuck Biggie, Fuck Bad Boy as a staff record labeland as a motherfuckin crewAnd if you wanna be down with Bad Boy; then fuck you tooChino XL, fuck you tooAll you motherfuckers, fuck you too(take money)(take money)Alla y'all motherfuckers, fuck you die slow motherfuckerMy fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't growYou motherfuckers can't be us or see usWe the motherfuckin Thug Life ridahs Westside till we die!Out here in California nigga we warn yaWe'll BOMB on you motherfuckers, we do OUR jobYou think you mob, nigga we the motherfuckin mobAin't nuttin but killers and the real niggazAll you motherfuckers feel usOur shit's goin triple and four-quadruple(take money)You niggaz laugh cause our staff got, guns in they motherfuckers beltsYou know how it is when we drop records they feltYou niggaz can't feel it, we the realestFUCK 'EM, we Bad Boy killin
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"Hit 'Em Up [Live]" as written by Dennis Lambert, Tupac Amaru Shakur, Yafeu Fula, Johnny Lee Jackson, Malcolm Greenidge, Bruce Washington, Frannie Golde, Duane S. Hitchings
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, EMI Music Publishing
Lyrics powerd by LyricFind
From Letras Mania