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hit 'em up (radio version) - 2pac lyrics

[intro: 2pac]
i ain’t got no friends
yeah, i’ma do this track
westside!
mob, bad boy k!lla!
hahahaha, hey fat boy…

[verse 1: 2pac]
first off, touch your chick and the clique you claim
westside when we ride, come equipped with game
you claim to be a player, but i bust your wife
we bust on bad boys, brothers touch for life
plus puffy trying to see me, weak hearts i rip
biggie smalls and junior m.a.f.i.a. some mark–ss tricks
we keep on coming while we running for your jewels
steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools
you know the rules
lil’ caesar go ask your homie how i’ll leave you
cut your trick -ss up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
little kim, don’t compensate for real g’s
quick to sn-tch your ugly hair off the streets
you little weave! i’ll let them suckas know it’s on for life
don’t let the westside ride the night haha
bad boy murdered on wax and k!lled
mess with me and get your caps peeled
you know

[hook: 2pac]
see, grab your glocks when you see 2pac
call the cops when you see 2pac, oh
who shot me, but your punks didn’t finish
now you about to feel the wrath of a menace
busta, i hit ’em up

[interlude: 2pac]
yeah, straight out on the bad boy camp
you know how we do it
all my real homeboys in new york keep thuggin’
all the rest of you bustas die slow!

[verse 2: hussein fatal]
get out the way yo, hussein fatal
biggie smalls just got dropped
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 a block that i’m runnin’ through
and i’m smokin’ junior m.a.f.i.a. in front of you
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!

[hook: 2pac]
see, grab your glocks when you see 2pac
call the cops when you see 2pac, oh
who shot me, but your punks didn’t finish
now you about to feel the wrath of a menace
busta, i hit ’em up

[verse 3: 2pac]
peep how we do it, keep it real, it’s penintentiary steel
this ain’t no freestyle battle, all you suckers gettin’ k!lled with your
mouths open
tryin’ to come up off of me you and the clouds hopin’, smokin’ dope
it’s like a shermine brothers think they learned to fly
but they burn little suckers you deserve to die
talkin’ about you gettin’ money but it’s funny to me
all you suckers livin’ bummy while you messin’ 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 trick that i 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 a-k
i’m still the thug that you love to hate
little busta i’ll hit ’em up

[verse 4: kadafi]
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
big momma, is you c0ked up or doped up?
get your little junior whopper cl!ck smoked up
please tell me 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: e.d.i. mean]
you’s a beat biter, a pac style taker
i’ll tell you to your face you ain’t nothin’ 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 prodigy’ in a choke
gun totin’ smoke, outlawz we ain’t no joke
thug life, cowards 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
haha, i hit ’em up!

[outro: 2pac]
empty clips, set trip
you know what time it is
westside, outlaw, thug life till we die
california love, california thug
you know what time it is
bad boy k!lla
mobb deep k!lla
chino xl k!lla
much love to smiff n wesson, freddie foxxx, bunchy the fat b-st-rd, naughty
by nature and all the real thugs out there
keep it comin’!
westsiiide!
you know what time it is
all my real homeboyz in jerzey, get up!
outlaw! thug life! to die
westside, outlaw
live it up or give it up, busta
hahahaha, yeah!
you know what time it is
love bout you, hate about me
gun talkin’ automatic mini’s`
eleven’s, fo’teens
whatever!
you wanna see us? have you punks wannabe’s
bad boy k!lla, we the realest, whatever!
we got, together, outlawz!
thugs to the realest, feel us, all you suckas die!
slow, my fo’fo’, go, bow-bow
kastro, edi, close my foes
without love, no love, do ya
you knew it!
it came with it, we bought it, record it, thug life!
forever, together, we ride, we die, we high
forever!
thug life!
outlaw ridahz!
westside!
m.o.b.!

- 2pac lyrics

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