Intro: [Tupac]
I ain't got no mutherfuckin friends
that's why I fucked your bitch You fat mutha-fucka
(Take Money)West Side Bad Boy Killers
(Take Money)You know the realist is Niggas
(Take Money)We bring it to ya
Tupac:
First off, fuck your bitch And the click you claim
West side when we ride Come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa But, I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boys Niggas fuck for Life
Plus Puffy tryin' to see the weak Hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia Some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming While we running for ya jewels
Steady gunning Keep on busting at them fools You know the rules
Little Ceasar go ask you homie How i'll leave yah
Cut your young ass up See yah in pieces Now be deceased
Little Kim, Don't fuck with real G's
Quick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streetsSo fuck peace
I'll let them niggas know It's on for Life
So let the West side Ride tonight [ha ha ha]
Bad Boys murdered on Wax and killed
Fuck with me And get your caps peeled You know....... See...
Chorus:
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh
Who shot me, But, ya punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace Nigga, I HIT 'EM UP!
Tupac talking:
Check this out You mutha-fuckas know what time it is
I don't know why I'm even on this track
Y'all niggas ain't even on my level
I'm going to let my little homies Ride on yah
Bitch made-ass Bad Boys bitches --deal with it!
Outlawz:
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 need to get spanked right, For setting up tracks
Little accident murderers And I ain't never heard of yah
Poisinous gats attack when I'm serving yah
Spank the shank Your whole style when I dank
Guard your rank Cause I'm a slam your ass in a pavement
Puffy weaker than a fuckin' rocka wanna do,nigga
And, I'll smoke ya Junior Mafia In front of yah nigga
With the ready power Tucked in my Guess Under my Eddie Bauer
Ya clout petty sour I get packages ever hour
and hit 'em up
Chorus:
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh
Who shot me,But, your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace Nigga, We hit 'em up
Tupac:
Peep how we do it Keep it real it's penitentary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle All you niggas gettin
killed With your mouths open
Tryin' to come up offa meYou and the clouds hoping
Smoking dope It's like a Sherm high
Niggas think they learned to fly
But they burned mutha-fucka you deserve to die
Talking about you Getting Money But its funny to me
All you niggas living bummy While you fucking with me?
I'm a self made Millioniare
Thug livin', out of prison Pistols in the Air {Air echoes} [Ha Ha]
Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the bitch to let you sleep on the house
Now its all about Versacci 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
Mutha-fucka I Hit 'Em Up
Outlawz:
I'm from N-E-W New Jerz.Where plenty of murders occurz
No points to be calmer We bring drama to all you herbs
Now go check the scenerio Little Ceas'
I bring you fake G's to yah kneez
copen please cuz this ain't your area
Little Kim is yah 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 pollutin your block
With fifteen shot,Cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw Mafia click moving up another knotch
And you bast stops squaws get dropped and mopped
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 face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
Softer than Alazhay with a chaser'
bout to get murdered for the paper
E.D.I mean aproach the scene
of the caper Like a loc, with little Cease in a choke hold
Toting smoke, we ain't no mutha-fuckin' joke
Thug Life, niggas better be known we approachin
In the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping It's a battle lost, I got across
as soon as the funk was poping off
Nigga, I hit 'em up
Outro:
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run (ha ha)
They don't wanna see us
Whole Junior Mafia click Dressing up trying to be us
How the fuck they gonna be the Mob?When we always on our job
We millionaire's Killing ain't fair But somebody got to do it
Oh yeah Mobb Deep (uhh)You wanna fuck with us?
You Little young ass mutha-fuckas
Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or somethin?
You fucking with me, nigga? You fuckin
around and have a siezure 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 mother fucking mama.
We gonna kill all you mother fuckers.
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie.
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fuckin opinion
Well this is how we gon' do this:
Fuck Mobb Deep
Fuck Biggie
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff record label
and as a mother fuckin crew And if you want to be down with Bad Boy
Then fuck you too Chino XL, fuck you too
All you mother fuckers, Fuck you too.
(take money)
(take money)
All of y'all mother fuckers,Fuck you, die slow mother fucker.
My fo' fo' make sure all yo' kids don't grow.
You mother fuckers can't be us or see us.
We mother fuckin' Thug Life riders. West Side till' we die.
Out here in California, nigga We warned ya'We'll bomb on you mother fuckers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nigga, we the mother fuckin' mob
Ain't nuttin' but killers And the real niggas
all you mother fuckers feel us.
Our shit goes tripple and four quadruple
(take money)
You niggas blast cuz our staff got guns at they mother fuckin' backs
You know how it is when we drop records they feel
You niggas can't feel it
We the realist Fuck 'em. em we Bad Boy killaz(echoes)
