Hit 'em Up - Outlawz Lyrics - 2pac- Greatest Hits - 2pac

That's why I fucked your bitch, you fat motherfucker 

West Side! Bad Boy killers! 

You know who this is 

(Take money, take money) 

First off: fuck your bitch and the clique you claim 

Westside when we ride, come equipped with game 

You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife 

We bust on Bad Boys, niggas fuck for Life 

Plus Puffy trying to see me, weak hearts I rip 

Biggie Smalls and Junior MAFIA some mark-ass bitches 

We keep on coming while we running for your jewels 

Steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools 

You know the rules 

Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll leave you 

Cut your young ass up, see you in pieces 

Now be deceased 

Little Kim, don't fuck around with real 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 

So let the Westside ride the night 

Bad Boys murdered on wax and killed 

Fuck with me and get your caps peeled. You know 

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Grab your Glocks when you see 2pac 

Call the cops when you see 2Pac 

Who shot me? But your punks didn't finish 

Now you about to feel 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 all niggas ain't even on my level 

I'm going to let my little homies 

Ride on you bitch-made ass Bad Boys bitches 

Photos 

Get out the way, yo 

Get out the way, yo 

Biggie Smalls just got dropped 

Little Moo' pass the Mac 

And let me hit em in his back 

Frank White needs to get spanked right 

For setting up traps 

Little accident-murderer 

And I ain't never heard of you 

Poisonous Gats attack when I'm serving you 

Spank you, shank your whole style when I gank 

Guard your rank, cause I'm a slam your ass in the paint 

Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block 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 clout petty/sour 

I push packages ever hour, I hit em up 

Grab your Glocks when you see 2pac 

Call the cops when you see 2Pac 

Who shot me? But your punks didn't finish 

Now you about to feel the wrath of a menace 

Nigga I hit em up! 

Peep how we do it 

Keep it real as penitentiary steel 

This ain't no freestyle battle 

All you niggas getting killed with your mouths open 

Trying to come up off of me, you in the clouds hoping 

Smoking dope. It's like a Sherm-high 

Niggas think they learned to fly 

But they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to die 

Talking about you Getting Money 

But it's funny to me 

All you niggas living bummy 

While you fucking with me 

I'm a self-made millionaire! 

Thug livin', out of prison 

Pistols in the air 

Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch 

And beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house? 

Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style 

5 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 

Motherfucker I'll hit em up 

I'm from N E W Jers' 

Where plenty of murders occurs 

No points to come, we bring drama to all you herbs 

Now go check the scenario: Little Ceas' 

I'll bring you fake G's to your knees 

Copping pleas with these 

Little Kim: is you 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 a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot 

Outlaw MAFIA clique moving up another notch 

And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped 

And 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 shit but a faker 

Softer than Alize with a chaser 

About to get murdered for the paper 

E.D.I Amin approach the scene of the caper 

Like a loc, with Little Ceas' in a choke 

Gun pistol smoke. We ain't no motherfucking 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 got em crossed as soon as the funk is bopping 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 clique dressing up to be us 

How the fuck they gonna be the mob when we always on out job? 

We millionaires, killing ain't fair but somebody got to do it 

Oh yeah, Mobb Deep: you wanna fuck with us? 

You little young-ass motherfuckers 

Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell 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 motherfucking mama 

We're 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 motherfucking opinion 

Well this is how we gonna do this: 

Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie 

Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfucking crew 

And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too 

Chino XL: fuck you too 

All you motherfuckers, fuck you too 

All of y'all mother fuckers, fuck you, die slow, motherfucker 

My .44 make sure all your kids don't grow 

You motherfuckers can't be us or see us 

We motherfuckin' Thug Life-riders 

Westside til we die 

Out here in California, nigga, we warned ya 

We'll bomb on you motherfuckers. We do our job 

You think you mob? Nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob 

Ain't nothing but killers and the real niggas 

All you motherfuckers feel us 

Our shit goes triple and 4-quadruple 

You niggas laugh cause our staff got guns under they motherfuckin' belts 

You know how it is, when we drop records they felt 

You niggas can't feel it, we the realist 

Fuck em, we Bad Boy-killers