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letra de hit 'em up (live 1996) - 2pac

[pre-recorded audio]
inside the most criminal prison in america…
if you think there’s no justice, think again
now only inside where they keep the baddest of the bad
if you do the crime, you might do the time

[2pac over recording]
aye yo
i think y’all gonna like this next song
when this song drop, i want all the west coast people to give some love on this next song
(y’all gotta go crazy)
they try to ban this song
they don’t wanna play my song, but they wanna play fat boy all godd-mn day

[intro]
what!
c’mon, c’mon
(take money)
c’mon, c’mon
(take money)
c’mon, c’mon
what’s up n-ggas!?

[verse 1]
first off, f-ck yo’ 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–ss b-tches
we keep on comin’ while we runnin’ for your jewels
steady gunnin’, keep on bustin’ at them fools, you know the rules
lil’ caesar, go ask your homie how i’ll leave ya
cut your young–ss 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 -ss 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 ha)
bad boy murdered on wax and k!lled
f-ck with me and get yo’ caps peeled, you know
n-ggas say

[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
n-gga, we hit ’em up!

yes y’all
outlawz in this motherf-cker
west coast for life

[verse 2]
get out the way yo, get out the way yo
biggie smalls just got shot
little moo’, p-ss the mac
and let me hit him in his back
frank white needs to get spanked right for settin’ traps
little accident murderer
and i ain’t never heard of ya
poisonous gats attack when i’m servin’ ya
spank ya, shank ya whole style when i gank
guard your rank ’cause i’ma slam your -ss in the paint
puffy weaker than the f-ckin’ block i’m runnin’ through, n-gga
and i’m smokin’ 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]
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
n-gga, say what?

[verse 3: 2pac]
peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel
this ain’t no freestyle battle, all you n-ggas gettin’ k!lled
with your mouths open
tryna come up off of me, you in the clouds hopin’
smokin’ dope, it’s like a sherm high
n-ggas think they learned to fly
but they burn, motherf-cker, you deserve to die
talkin’ about you gettin’ money, but it’s funny to me
all you n-ggas livin’ bummy while you f-ckin’ with me
i’m a self-made millionaire
thug livin’, 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 4]
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, coppin’ pleas in de janeiro
little kim, is you c0ked up or doped up?
get your little junior whopper cl!ck smoked up
what the f-ck, is you stupid?
i take money, crash and mash through brooklyn
with my cl!ck lootin’, shootin’ and pollutin’ your block
with a 15-shot c-cked glock to your knot
outlaw mafia clique movin’ up another notch
and your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
all your fake–ss east coast props brainstormed and locked

[verse 5]
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 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 totin’ smoke, we ain’t no motherf-ckin’ joke
and it better be knowin’
we approachin’ in the wide open, gun smokin’
no need for hopin’, it’s a battle lost
i got ’em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin’ off
n-gga, we hit ’em up!

[chorus]
we hit him up
call the cops when you see 2pac
say what? (come on with the next sh-t)
call the cops when you see 2pac
who shot me? but you punks didn’t finish
now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
n-gga, we hit ’em up!
that’s right

[spoken word: 2pac]
yo, y’all gotta keep this sh-t real

- 2pac

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