[Tupac]
I ain't got no mutha-fuckin friends,
Sothat's why I f**ked fucked your bi**h bitch
You fat mutha-f**ka {Take Money} muthafucka (Take Money)
West Side
Bad Boy Killers {Take Money} (Take Money)
You know who the realist is
ni**asniggas we bring it to {Take Money} (Take Money)
(ha ha, that's alright)

First off, f**k fucked your bi**h bitch
And the click you claim
West side when we ride
Come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa
But, I f**ked fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boys
ni**as f**kniggas fuck for Life
Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak
Hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia
Some mark a*s bi**hes ass bitches
We keep on coming
While we running for yah jewels
Steady gunning
Keep on busting at them fools
You know the rules
Little Ceasar go ask you homie
How i'll I'll leave yah
Cut your young a*s ass up
See yah in pieces
Now be deceased
Little Kim,
Don't f**k fuck with real a*s ass G's
Quick to snatch your ugly
a*s, off the streets
So f**k fuck peace
I'll let them ni**as 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
f**kfuck with me
And get your caps peeled
You know, See

[Chorus]enter deleted
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the
wrath of a menace
ni**a,nigga, I hit 'em up

Check this out
You mutha-f**kas mutha-fuckas know what time it is
I don't know why I'm even on this track
Y'all ni**as niggas ain't even on my level
I'm going to let my little homies
Ride on yah
bi**hbitch made a*s ass Bad Boys bi**hes bitches
{ahh(ahh yo, yo, hold the f**k up} fuck up)

Get out the way yo
Get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little move pa*s 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 yah
Poise less gats attack
when I'm serving yah
Spank the shank
Your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank
Cause I'm a slam your a*s ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a f**kin' fuckin' block
I'm running through ni**a nigga
And I'm smoking Junior Mafia
In front of yah ni**a nigga
With the ready power
Tucked in my Guess
Under my Eddie Bower
Your clout petty sour
I push packages ever hour
I hit 'em up

[Chorus]enter deleted
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the
wrath of a menace
ni**a,nigga, We hit 'em up

Peep how we do it
Keep it real
Its penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle
All you ni**as 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 Shermine
ni**asniggas think they learned to fly
But they burn mutha-f**ka mutha-fucka
you deserve to die
Talking about you Getting Money
But its funny to me
All you ni**as niggas living bummy
While you f**king fucking with me?
I'm a self made Millionaire
Thug livin', out of prison
Pistols in the Air {Air} (Air) (Ha Ha)
Biggie remember when I
use to let you sleep on
the couch
And beg the bi**h bitch to let you
sleep in the house
Now its 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
Mutha-f**kaMutha-fucka I'll Hit 'Em Up

I'm from N W New Jers.
Where plenty of murder occurs
No points to come
We bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio
Little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees
Copin' pleas with these
Little Kim is yah
Coked up or doped up
Get your little Junior
Whopper click smoked up
What the f**k? 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 a*s ass east coast props
Brainstormed and locked

You'se a B-writer
Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you
ain't nothing s**t shit but a
faker
So fill the Alazhay 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 (uhh)
Toting smoke, we ain't no
mutha-f**kin'mutha-fuckin' joke
Thug Life, ni**as 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
ni**a,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 to be us
How the f**k 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 (uhh)
You wanna f**k fuck with us
You Little young a*s mutha-f**kas ass mutha-fuckas
Don't one of you ni**as niggas got
sickle-cell or something
You f**king fucking with me, ni**a ? nigga?
You f**k fuck around and catch a
seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f**k fuck up
Before you get smacked the f**k fuck up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you ni**as niggas from New York
that want to bring it,
Bring it.
But we ain't singing,
We bringing drama
f**kfuck you and your mother f**king fucking mama.
We gonna kill all you mother f**kers. fuckers.
Now when I came out, I
told you it was just about
biggie.
Then everybody had to open
their mouth with a mother
f**kinfuckin opinion
Well this is how we gon' do this:
f**kfuck Mobb Deep,
f**kfuck Biggie,
f**kfuck Bad Boy as a staff,
record label, and as a
mother f**kin fuckin crew.
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
Then f**k fuck you too.
Chino XL, f**k fuck you too.
All you mother f**kers, fuckers,
f**kfuck you too.
(take money, take money)
All of y'all mother f**kers, fuckers,
f**kfuck you, die slow mother f**ker. fucker.
My fo' fo' (.44 magnum)
make sure all yo' kids
don't grow.
You mother f**kers fuckers can't
be us or see us.
We mother f**kin' fuckin' Thug Life riders.
West Side till' we die.
Out here in California, ni**a nigga
We warned ya'
We'll bomb on you mother f**kers. fuckers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob,
ni**a,nigga, we the mother
f**kin'fuckin' mob
Ain't nuttin' but killers
And the real ni**as, niggas, all you
mother f**kers fuckers feel us.
Our s**t shit goes triple and four quadruple
You ni**as niggas laugh cuz our
staff got guns under they
mother f**kin' fuckin' belts
You know how it is and we
drop records they felt
You ni**as niggas can't feel it
We the realist
f**kfuck 'em.
We Bad Boy killas.