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lyrics "2Pac - Hit 'Em Up (Dirty)"

 
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Artist express:Tupac Shakur
Release year:2013

I aint got no motherfuckin friends
Thats why I fucked yo bitch, you fat motherfucker
(Take money) West side, Bad Boy killers (take money)
You know who the realest is niggaz we bring it to you (take money)
(Take money)
First off, fuck your bitch and the click 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 Boy niggaz fucked for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. Some mark-ass bitches
We keep on comin while we runnin for yo jewels
Steady gunnin, keep on bustin at them fools, you know the rules
Lil Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave ya
Cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil Kim, dont fuck around with real Gs
Quick to snatch yo ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace
I let them niggaz know its on for life
So let the Westside ride tonight
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
Fuck wit me and get yo caps peeled, you know, see
Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac
Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uh
Who shot me, but ya punks didnt finish
Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit em up
Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is (take money)
I dont even know why Im on this track (take money)
Yall niggaz aint even on my level
Ima let my little homies ride on you (take money)
Bitch made-ass bad boy bitches deal with it!
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little Moo, pass the mac, and let me hit him in his back
Frank White need to get spanked right, for settin traps
Little accident murderers, and I aint never heard-a ya
Poisinous gats attack when Im servin ya
Spank ya shank ya whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, cause Ima slam your ass in the paint
Puffy weaker than the fuckin block Im runnin through nigga
And Im smokin Junior M.A.F.I.A. In front of you nigga
With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
Ya clout petty sour, I get packages every hour to hit em up
Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac
Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uh
Who shot me, but ya punks didnt finish
Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit em up
Peep how we do it, keep it real, its penitentiary steel
This aint no freestyle battle
All you niggaz gettin killed with ya mouths open
Tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hopin
Smokin dope its like a sherm high niggaz think they learned to fly
But they burn motherfucker, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money but its funny to me
All you niggaz livin bummy why you fuckin with me?
Im a self made millionaire
Thug livin out a prison, pistols in the air
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
And beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house
Now its all about Versace, you copied my style
Five shots couldnt drop me, I took it and smiled
Now Im bout to set the record straight
With my AK Im still the thug that you love to hate
Motherfucker, I hit em up
Im 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
Little Ceas Ill bring you fake Gs to your knees
Copping pleas in de Janeiro
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
Yous a, beat biter
A Pac style taker
Ill tell you to your face you aint 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 totin smoke. We aint no motherfucking joke
Thug Life, niggas better be known
Be approaching in the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping, its 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 dont wanna see us (take money)
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. Clique
Dressing up trying to be us (take money)
How the fuck they gonna be the mob when we always on our job? (Take money)
We millionaires
Killing aint fair but somebody got to do it (take money)
Oh yeah, Mobb Deep (take money) you wanna fuck with us
You little young-ass motherfuckers (take money)
Dont one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something (take money)
Youre fucking with me, nigga you fuck around and catch a seizure or a heart attack (take money)
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 aint singing, we bringing drama
Fuck you and your motherfucking mama
Were 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 (take money, take money)
All of yall mother fuckers, fuck you, die slow, motherfucker
My .44 make sure all yall kids dont grow
You motherfuckers cant be us or see us
We motherfuckin Thug Life-riders, Westside til we die
Out here in California, nigga, we warned ya
Well bomb on you motherfuckers. We do our job
You think you mob? Nigga, we the motherfuckin mob
Aint nothing but killers and the real niggas
All you motherfuckers feel us
Our shit goes triple and 4-quadruple
(Take money)
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 cant feel it, we the realest
Fuck em, we Bad Boy-killers
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