2Pac & Outlawz - Hit 'Em Up (Live)

We, the, Outlawz (Prison in America)Yeah, (If you think there's no justice, think again)Hey yo. I think ya'll gonna like this next song(I think they do)When this song drop, y'all gots to go crazyI want all the West Coast people to give up some loveWhen this song come on (Ya'll got to go crazy)They tried to ban this song (Everybody)They don't wanna play my songBut they wanna play fat boy over hereWhat? Come on, come on (Take money)Come on, come on (Take money)Come on, come on (What's up)First off, f- and the clique you claimWestside when we ride, come equipped with gameYou claim to be a player, but I f- your wifeWe bust on Bad Boys, niggas f- for lifePlus, Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I ripBiggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. is some mark-ass bitchesWe keep on comin' while we runnin' for your jewelsSteady gunnin', keep on bustin' at them fools, you know the rulesLil' Caesar, go ask your homie how I'll leave yaCut your young up, leave you in pieces, now be deceasedLil' Kim, don't f- around with real G'sQuick to snatch yo' off the streets, so f- peaceI'll let them n- know it's on for lifeDon't let the Westside ride tonight (ha ha ha)Bad Boy murdered on wax and killedF- with me and get yo' caps peeled, you knowSee, grab your Glocks when you see 2PacCall the cops when you see 2Pac, uhWho shot me? But you punks didn't finishNow you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menaceN-, I hit 'em up! Yes, yo' aha, Outlawz eyCheck this outWest Coast, West fo' life, what's up, hit meGet out the way yo, get out the way yoBiggie Smalls just got shotLittle Moo', pass the MACAnd let me hit him in his backFrank White needs to get spanked right for settin' trapsLittle accident murdererAnd I ain't never heard of yaPoisonous gats attack when I'm servin' yaSpank ya, shank ya whole style when I gankGuard your rank 'cause I'ma slam your a- in the paintP- weaker than the f- ' block I'm runnin' through, n-And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, n-With the ready powerTucked in my Guess under my Eddie BauerI push packages every hour, I hit 'em up!When you see 2PacCall the cops when you see 2Pac, uhWho shot me? But you punks didn't finishNow you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menaceNigga, say what?Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steelThis ain't no freestyle battle, all you n- gettin' killedWith your mouths openTryna come up off of me, you in the clouds hopin'Smokin' dope, it's like a sherm highN- think they learned to flyBut they burn, you deserve to dieTalkin' about you gettin' money, but it's funny to meAll you n- livin' bummy, why you f- with me?I'm a self-made millionaireThug livin', out of prison, pistols in the air (ha ha)Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couchAnd beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house?Now it's all about Versace, you copied my styleFive shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiledNow I'm back to set the record straightWith my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hateI'm from N-E-W Jers' where plenty of murders occursNo points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbsNow go check the scenario: Lil' CeaseI'll bring you fake G's to your knees, coppin' pleas in de JaneiroLittle Kim, is you coked up or doped up?Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked upWhat the, is you stupidI take money, crash and mash through BrooklynWith my click lootin', shootin' and pollutin' your blockWith a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knotOutlaw MAFIA clique movin' up another notchAnd your pop stars popped and get mopped and droppedAll your fake-ass East Coast props brainstormed and lockedYou's a beat biter, a Pac style takerI'll tell you to your face you ain't shit but a fakerSofter than Alize with a chaserAbout to get murdered for the paperE.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the caperLike a loc, with Little Ceas' in a chokeGun totin' smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin' jokeBetter be knowin'We approachin' in the wide open, gun smokin'No need for hopin', it's a battle lostI got 'em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin' offI hit 'em up, what, what? Huh, huh, yeahWe hit 'em upGrab your glocks when you see TupacCall the cops when you see 2Pac, uhWho shot me? But you punks didn't finishNow you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menaceHit 'em up, that's right!(Take money, take money)