Album Name

The Death Row Singles Collection

Artist

2Pac, Various Artists

Genre

랩/힙합

Release Date

2007.07.31

Release Agency

Death Row Koch

Hit Em Up - 2Pac
I ain't got no motherfucking friends
That's why I fucked your bitch
You're fat motherfucker
Take Money
West Side
Bad Boy Killers
Take Money
You know who the realist is
niggas we bring it to
Take Money
ha ha,
First off, fuck your bitch
And the click you claim
West side 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 tryin' 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
Don't let the west side
Ride the night ha ha
Bad Boys murdered
on Wax and kill fuck with me
And get your caps peeled
You know, see
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, uh
Who shot me,
But your punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout 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 move pass the mac
And let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right
For setting up traps
Little accident murderers
And I ain't never heard of you
Poise less gats attack
when I'm serving you
Spank the shank
Your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank
'cause I'm a slam your ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a 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, uh
Who shot me,
But your punks didn't finish
Now you '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 ain't no freestyle battle
All you niggas getting killed
With your mouths open
Tryin' to come up off of me
You and 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 Air Ha Ha
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
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
Mother-fucker I'll Hit 'Em Up
I'm from N E W Jers
Where plenty of murder occurs
No points to come
We bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenario
Little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin' please with these scenario
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 fifteen shot,
Cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw Mafia click moving up
another notch
And your Pop stars popped and
get dropped and mopped
And all your fake ass
east coast props
Brainstormed and locked
You're a beat biter
Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you ain't
nothing shit but a faker
So fill the Alize with a chaser
'bout to get murdered for the paper
E.d.i I mean post
the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke uh
Toting smoke,
we ain't no motherfuckin' 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 gottem 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 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 out job
We millionaire's
Killing ain't fair
But somebody got to do it
Oh yah Mobb Deep uh
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
mother fucking mama
We're 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 fucking 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 mother fucking 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 motherfucker
My 44 magnum make
sure all your kids don't grow
You motherfuckers
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 motherfuckin' mob
Ain't nothing but killers
And the real niggas,
all you motherfuckers feel us
Our shit goes triple
and four quadruple
You niggas laugh 'cause
our staff got guns under they
motherfuckin' belts
You know how it is
and we drop records they felt
You niggas can't feel it
We the realist fuck 'em
We Bad Boy killers