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2Pac – Hit ‘Em Up ft. Outlawz


Download another hot old mp3 free audio song lyrics by 2Pac and this amazing music is titled “Hit ‘Em Up ft. Outlawz”.

Actually this amazing music is popped out of an old album which is titled ‘Greatest Hits’ and it was released in the year 1996.


Music Video below!.






[Intro: 2Pac]


I ain’t got no motherfuckin’ friends

That’s why I fucked yo’ bitch, you fat motherfucka!

(Take money) West Side, Bad Boy killas

(Take money) (You know) You know who the realest is

(Take money) niggas, we bring it too

That’s a’ight, ha ha

(Take money)


[Verse 1: 2Pac]

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 fucked for life

Plus, Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip

Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. is some mark-ass bitches

We keep on comin’ while we runnin’ for your jewels

Steady gunnin’, keep on bustin’ at them fools, you know the rules

Lil’ Caesar, go ask your homie how I’ll leave ya

Cut your young-ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased

Lil’ Kim, don’t fuck around with real Gs

Quick to snatch yo’ ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace!

I’ll let them niggas know it’s on for life

Don’t let the Westside ride tonight (Ha ha)

Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed

Fuck with me and get yo’ caps peeled, you know

[Chorus: 2Pac]

See, grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh

Who shot me? But you punks didn’t finish

Now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace

Nigga, I hit ’em up! (Yeah)


[Interlude: 2Pac]

Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is

I don’t even know why I’m on this track

Y’all niggas ain’t even on my level

I’ma let my lil’ homies ride

On you bitch-made ass Bad Boy bitches, feel it!


[Verse 2: Hussein Fatal]

Get out the way yo, get out the way yo

Biggie Smalls just got dropped

Little Mu’, pass the MAC and let me hit him in his back

Frank White needs to get spanked right for settin’ traps

Little accident murderer, and I ain’t never heard of ya

Poisonous gats attack when I’m servin’ ya

Spank ya, shank ya whole style when I gank

Guard your rank ’cause I’ma slam your ass in the paint

Puffy weaker than the fuckin’ block I’m runnin’ through, nigga

And I’m smokin’ Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, nigga

With the ready power tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer

Your clout petty/sour, I push packages every hour; I hit ’em up!


[Chorus: 2Pac]

Grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh

Who shot me? But you punks didn’t finish

Now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace

Nigga, we hit ’em up!


[Verse 3: 2Pac]

Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel

This ain’t no freestyle battle

All you niggas gettin’ killed with your mouths open

Tryna come up off of me, you in the clouds hopin’

Smokin’ dope, it’s like a sherm high

Niggas think they learned to fly

But they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to die

Talkin’ about you gettin’ money, but it’s funny to me

All you niggas livin’ bummy while you fuckin’ with me

I’m a self-made millionaire

Thug livin’, out of prison, pistols in the air (ha ha)

Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch

And beg a 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 AK, I’m still the thug that you love to hate

Motherfucker, I hit ’em up!


[Verse 4: Kadafi]

I’m from N-E-W Jers’ where plenty of murders occurs

No points or commas, we bring the drama to all you herbs

Now go check the scenario: Lil’ Cease

I’ll bring you fake G’s to your knees, coppin’ 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 lootin’, shootin’ and pollutin’ your block

With a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot

Outlaw MAFIA clique movin’ up another notch

And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped

All your fake-ass East Coast props brainstormed and locked


[Verse 5: E.D.I. Mean]

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 Alizé with a chaser

About to get murdered for the paper

E.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the caper

Like a loc, with Little Ceas’ in a choke

Gun totin’ smoke, we ain’t no motherfuckin’ joke

Thug Life, niggas better be knowin’

We approachin’ in the wide open, gun smokin’

No need for hopin’, it’s a battle lost

I got ’em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin’ off

Nigga, I hit ’em up!


[Outro: 2Pac]

Now you tell me who won

I see them, they run, hahahaha

They don’t wanna see us

Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique dressin’ up tryna be us

How the fuck they gonna be the mob

When we always on our job?

We millionaires

Killin’ ain’t fair, but somebody gotta 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 somethin’?

You’re fuckin’ with me, nigga

You fuck around and have 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 wanna bring it, bring it!

But we ain’t singin’, we bringin’ drama

Fuck you and yo’ motherfuckin’ mama!

We gon’ 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 motherfuckin’ 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 motherfuckin’ crew!

And if you wanna 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 y’all motherfuckers, fuck you, die slow!

Motherfucker, my .44 make sho’ all y’all kids don’t grow!

You motherfuckers can’t be us or see us

We motherfuckin’ Thug Life ridas

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 nothin’ but killas

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 motherfuckas belts

You know how it is: when we drop records, they felt

You niggas can’t feel it, we the realest

Fuck ’em, we Bad Boy killas!