TestoHit 'Em Up 2

2Pac

Ultima modifica il: 13 marzo 2019

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 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 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

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