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letra de hit 'em up (dirty version) - 2pac

[intro:2pac and a b-tch saying take money]
sucka-ass, i ain’t got no motherf-ckin’ friends
that’s why i f-cked yo’ b-tch, you fat motherf-cker
(take money) west side, bad boy k!llas
(take money) (you know) you know who the realest is
(take money) n-ggas, we bring it too
that’s ‘ight, ha-ha
(take money) ha-ha

[verse 1:2pac]
first off, f-ck your b-tch and the clique you claim
westside when we ride, come equipped with game
you claim to be a player, but i f-cked your wife
we bust on bad boys, n-ggas f-cked for life
plus, puffy tryna see me, weak hearts i rip
biggie smalls and junior m.a.f.i.a. is some mark-ass b-tchеs
we keep on coming while we running for your jеwels
steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools, you know the rules
lil caesar, go ask your homie how i’ll leave ya
cut your young-ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
lil kim, don’t f-ck around with real g’s
quick to sn-tch yo’ ugly ass off the streets, so f-ck peace
i’ll let them n-ggas know it’s on for life
don’t let the westside ride tonight, ha-ha
bad boy murdered on wax and k!lled
f-ck with me and get yo’ caps peeled, you know
[chorus:2pac]

who shot me? but you punks didn’t finish
now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace (uh)
n-gga, i hit ’em up

[bridge:2pac]
check this out, you motherf-ckers know what time it is
i don’t even know why i’m on this track
y’all n-ggas ain’t even on my level
i’ma let my lil’ homies ride on you b-tch-made ass bad boy b-tches, feel it!

[verse 2:outlawz]
get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo
biggie smalls just got dropped
little mu’, 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 ya, shank ya whole style when i gank
guard your rank ’cause i’ma slam your ass in the paint
puffy weaker than the f-cking block i’m running through, n-gga
and i’m smoking junior m.a.f.i.a. in front of you, n-gga
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!
[chorus:2pac]
see, grab your glocks when you see 2pac
call the cops when you see 2pac, uh
who shot me? but you punks didn’t finish
now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace (uh)
n-gga, i hit ’em up

[verse 3:2pac]
peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel
this ain’t no freestyle battle
all you n-ggas getting k!lled with your mouths open
tryna come up off of me, you in the clouds hoping
smoking dope, it’s like a sherm high
n-ggas think they learned to fly
but they burn, motherf-cker, you deserve to die
talking about you getting money, but it’s funny to me
all you n-ggas living bummy while you f-cking with me
i’m a self-made millionaire
thug living, out of prison, pistols in the air, ha-ha
biggie, remember when i used to let you sleep on the couch
and beg a b-tch 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
motherf-cker, i hit ’em up!
[verse 3:outlawz]
motherf-cker, i hit ’em up!
i’m from n-e-w jers’ where plenty of murders occurs
no points or commas, we bring the 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 clique smoked up
what the f-ck? is you stupid?
i take money, crash and mash through brooklyn
with my clique looting, shooting and polluting your block
with a 15-shot c-cked glock to your knot
outlaw mafia clique moving up another notch
and your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
all your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and locked
you’s a beat biter, a pac style taker
i’ll tell you to your face, you ain’t sh-t, but a faker
softer than alizé 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 motherf-cking joke
thug life, n-ggas better be knowing
we 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
n-gga, i hit ’em up

[freedom of speech and outro:2pac]
now you tell me who won
i see them, they run, hahahaha
they don’t wanna see us
whole junior m.a.f.i.a. clique dressing up tryna be us
how the f-ck they gonna be the mob when we always on our job?
we millionaires
k!lling ain’t fair, but somebody gotta do it
oh-yeah, mobb deep, huh, you wanna f-ck with us?
you little young-ass motherf-ckers
don’t one of you n-ggas got sickle-cell or something?
you’re f-cking with me, n-gga
you f-ck around and have a seizure or a heart attack
you better back the f-ck up, ‘fore you get smacked the f-ck up
this is how we do it on our side
any of you n-ggas from new york that wanna bring it, bring it
but we ain’t singing, we bringing drama
f-ck you and yo’ motherf-cking mama!
we gon’ k!ll all you motherf-ckers!
now when i came out, i told you it was just about biggie
then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherf-cking opinion
well, this is how we gonna do this, f-ck mobb deep! f-ck biggie!
f-ck bad boy as a staff, record label, and as a motherf-cking crew
and if you wanna be down with bad boy, then f-ck you too
chino xl, f-ck you too
all you motherf-ckers, f-ck you too
(take money, take money)
all of y’all motherf-ckers, f-ck you, die slow motherf-cker
my .44 make sho’ all y’all kids don’t grow!
you motherf-ckers can’t be us or see us
we motherf-cking thug life ridas, westside ’til we die!
out here in california, n-gga, we warned ya
we’ll bomb on you motherf-ckers! we do our job!
you think you mob? n-gga, we the motherf-cking mob!
ain’t nothing but k!llas and the real n-ggas, all you motherf-ckers feel us
our sh-t goes triple and four-quadruple
you n-ggas laugh ’cause our staff got guns in they motherf-ckers belts
you know how it is, when we drop records, they felt
you n-ggas can’t feel it, we the realest
f-ck ’em! we bad boy k!llas

- 2pac

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