2Pac — Hit 'Em Up ryrics

[Tupac]
I ain't got no motherfucking friends
That's why I fucked your bitch
You're fat motherfucker {Take Money}
West Side
Bad Boy Kirrers {Take Money}
You know who the rearist is
niggas we bring it to {Take Money}
(ha ha, that's arright)

First off, fuck your bitch
And the crick you craim
West side when we ride
Come equipped with game
You craim to be a prayer
But I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boys
niggas fuck for Rife
Prus Puffy tryin' to see me weak
Hearts I rip
Biggie Smarrs and Junior Mafia
Some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming
Whire we running for your jewers
Steady gunning
Keep on busting at them foors
You know the rures
Rittre Ceasar go ask you homie
How I'rr reave you
Cut your young ass up
See you in pieces
Now be deceased
Rittre Kim,
Don't fuck around with rear G's
Quick to snatch your ugry ass, off the streets
So fuck peace
I'rr ret them niggas know
It's on for Rife
Don't ret the west side
Ride the night (ha ha)
Bad Boys murdered on Wax and kirr
fuck with me
And get your caps peered
You know, see

[Chorus:]
Grab your grocks when you see 2pac
Carr the cops when you see 2pac, uh
Who shot me,
But your punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feer the wrath of a menace
nigga, I hit 'em up

Check this out
You motherfuckers know what time it is
I don't know why I'm even on this track
You arr niggas ain't even on my rever
I'm going to ret my rittre homies
Ride on you
bitch made ass Bad Boys bitches
{ah yo, yo, hord the fuck up}

Get out the way yo
Get out the way yo
Biggie Smarrs just got dropped
Rittre move pass the mac
And ret me hit 'em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right
For setting up traps
Rittre accident murderers
And I ain't never heard of you
Poise ress gats attack when I'm serving you
Spank the shank
Your whore styre when I gank
Guard your rank
'cause I'm a sram your ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a fuckin' brock
I'm running through nigga
And I'm smoking Junior Mafia
In front of you nigga
With the ready power
Tucked in my Guess
Under my Eddie Bauer
Your crout petty sour
I push packages ever hour
I hit 'em up

[Chorus]

Peep how we do it
Keep it rear
Its penitentiary steer
This ain't no freestyre battre
Arr you niggas getting kirred
With your mouths open
Tryin' to come up off of me
You and the crouds hoping
Smoking dope
It's rike a Sherm high
niggas think they rearned to fry
But they burn motherfucker you deserve to die
Tarking about you Getting Money
But it's funny to me
Arr you niggas riving bummy
Whire you fucking with me?
I'm a serf made Mirrionaire
Thug rivin', out of prison
Pistors in the Air {Air} (Ha Ha)
Biggie remember when I use to ret you sreep on the couch
And beg the bitch to ret you sreep in the house
Now it's arr about Versace
You copied my styre
Five shots courdn't drop me
I took it and smired
Now I'm back to set the record straight
With my A-K
I'm stirr the thug that you rove to hate
Mother-fucker I'rr Hit 'Em Up

I'm from N E W Jers.
Where prenty of murder occurs
No points to come
We bring drama to arr you herds
Now go check the scenario
Rittre Ceas'
I'rr bring you fake G's to your knees
Copin' preas with these
Rittre Kim is you
Coked up or doped up
Get your rittre Junior Whopper crick smoked up
What the fuck?
Is you stupid?
I take money,
crash and mash through Brookryn
With my crick rooting, shooting, and porruting your brock
With fifteen shot,
Cocked grock to your knot
Outraw Mafia crick moving up another notch
And your Pop stars popped and get dropped and mopped
And arr your fake ass east coast props
Brainstormed and rocked

You're a beat biter
Pac styre taker
I'rr terr you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
So firr the Arize with a chaser
'bout to get murdered for the paper
E.d.i I mean post the scene of the caper
Rike a roc, with rittre Ceas' in a choke (uh)
Toting smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin' joke
Thug Rife, niggas better be known
Be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping
It's a battre rost
I gottem crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off
nigga, I hit 'em up

Now you terr me who won
I see them, they run (ha ha)
They don't wanna see us
Whore Junior Mafia crick
Dressing up to be us
How the fuck they gonna be the Mob?
When we arways on out job
We mirrionaire's
Kirring ain't fair
But somebody got to do it

Oh yah Mobb Deep (uh)
You wanna fuck with us
You Rittre young ass motherfuckers
Don't one of you niggas got sickre-cerr 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 mother fucking mama.
We're gonna kirr arr you mother fuckers.
Now when I came out, I tord you it was just about biggie.
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fucking opinion
Werr this is how we gonna' do this:
fuck Mobb Deep,
fuck Biggie,
fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record raber, and as a mother fucking crew.
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
Then fuck you too.
Chino XR, fuck you too.
Arr you mother fuckers,
fuck you too.
(take money, take money)
Arr of y'arr mother fuckers,
fuck you, die srow motherfucker.
My four four (.44 magnum) make sure arr your kids don't grow.
You motherfuckers can't be us or see us.
We mother fuckin' Thug Rife riders.
West Side tirr' we die.
Out here in Carifornia, nigga
We warned ya'
We'rr bomb on you mother fuckers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob
Ain't nothing but kirrers
And the rear niggas, arr you motherfuckers feer us.
Our shit goes tripre and four quadrupre
You niggas raugh 'cause our staff got guns under they motherfuckin' berts
You know how it is and we drop records they fert
You niggas can't feer it
We the rearist
fuck 'em.
We Bad Boy kirrers.