Hit 'Em Up (Live)

First off, fuck yo bitch and the clique you claim

Westside when we ride come equipped wit' game

You claim to be a playa, but I fucked yo wife

We bust on Bad Boys, **** fuck for life

Plus Puffy tryna 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 ya jewels

Steady gunnin' while we bustin' at them fools

You know the rules

Lil' Caesar go ask ya homie how I'll leave ya

Cut ya young ass up, see you in pieces

Now be deceased

Lil' Kim don't fuck around wit' real Gs

Quick to snatch yo ugly ass off the streets

So fuck peace

I'll let them **** know it's on for life

So let the Westside ride tonight

Bad boy burnin on wax and killed

Fuck wit' me and get yo caps peeled, you know

Grab ya Glocks when you see 2Pac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac

Who shot me, but you punks didn't finish

Now you bout to feel the wrath of a menace

****, I hit em up

Get out the way, yo

Get out the way, yo

Biggie Smalls just got shot

Little Moo pass the Mac

And let me hit 'em in his back

Frank White need 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 ya rank, 'cause I'ma slam yo ass in da paint

Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block, I'm runnin' you, ****

And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, ****

Wit' the ready-power tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer

Your clout petty-sour

I push packages every hour, hit 'em up

Call the cops when you see 2Pac

Who shot me, but you punks didn't finish

Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace

****, I hit em up

Peep how we do it

Keep it real as penitentiary steel

This ain't no freestyle battle

All you **** gettin' killed

With ya mouths open

Tryna come up off of me you in the clouds hopin'

Smokin' dope it's like a Sherm high

**** think they learned to fly

But they burn mothafucka you deserve to die

Talkin' 'bout you gettin' money, but it's funny to me

All you **** livin' bummy why you fuckin' wit me

I'm a self-made millionaire

Thug livin' outta prison, pistols in the air

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

And begged the bitch to let you sleep in the house

Uh huh, now it's all about Versace

You copy my style

Five shots couldn't drop me

I took it and smiled

Now I'm bout to set the record straight

Wit' my AK, I'm still da thug that you love to hate

Mothfucka I hit em up

I'm from N-E-W Jers'

Where plenty murders occurs

No point to come 'cause we bring the drama to all you herbs

Now check the scenario

Little Cease

I'll bring you fake G's to they knees

Coppin' pleas in de Janeirio

Big Mama is you doped up or coked up

Get ya little Junior Whopper clique smoked up

What the fuck, is you stupid?

I take money, crash and mash

Through Brooklyn

Wit' my clique lootin', shootin' and pollutin' ya block

Wit fifteen shot, cocked Glock to ya knot

Outlaw mafia clique movin' up another notch

And you box-top spots get mopped and dropped

All you fake ass East coast props brainstormed and locked

You's a, beat biter

A pop-style taker

I'll tell you to your face

You ain't nothin' but a faker

Softer than Alize wit a chaser

Bout to get murdered for the paper

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

Like a loc

Wit Little Caesar in a choke

Tell him smoke

We ain't no mothafuckin joke

Thug Life **** better be known

We approachin'

In the wide open, gun smokin'

No need for hoping, it's a battle lost

I got a cross, soon as the funk was poppin' off