Hit 'Em up 2 Songtext

von 2Pac

-Hit em UP 2-

[2Pac]

Cause auh, niggas talk plenty shit,
So many tricks,
I fucked yo bitch cause I'm true to this, witness the hit...
You talked bad about a nigga when I got blasted,
Hope you made a little money while the fun lasted...
I heard they call ya Big Poppa, nigga how ya figure,
Cause to me you'll always be a phony fat nigga...
I can't be copy even wearing Vasache,
Nigga you wanna row, scared as fuck if the guns'll bust...
Now niggas stop, I gotta listen, playa haters be fakes,
You bitch niggas gettin' blown away...
You crosseyed, down syndrome, crack baby,
Say you and Puffy is tough, now that's crazy...
I got yo ass in my sight,
Niggas dyin' tonight, we screamin', West Side for Life...
And I can't wait to see you niggas in traffic,
Cause we gonna get 'em up,
When you see me you better bust, cause I'm a hit 'em up...

[Chours]

[Napoleon]

It's hard to explain,
What's in my pain when I was a younger,
Before my shit I swear to God I'll leave you stick just to make a come up...
Niggas run up, it's mo' murder for the money,
Got caught up tryin' to make a harder record,
You should've been done checked it...
Cause I bet you, in this life,
You'll never gonna see a nigga like me wanting to battle up on T.V...
I rather release some of these,
And put a slug to you busta ass niggas and continue to squeeze you...
I got some niggas back in Jersey,
That rather be jackin' cars and robbin' bitch niggas like yall for emergencys...
Let's take it back to the westside, then niggas sure gonna be ridahs,
And plus we Thug Life niggas, so call us multiply...
Finger on the trigger, bitches standin' by us,
But we don't trust 'em, they might be the first that we gonna bust on...
Just label me a Bad Boy Killa,
You Mobb Deep bitches gonna feel us when we turn into killas...

[Edi Ameng]

Now it's B.B.K all day, ain't no frontin', ain't no trippin',
Strictly Bad Boy Killa, shoot that ass like a squilla...
Now let this muthafucka top down, I'm fince to drop down,
Let these sounds pop and then I hop out...
Send a shout out, to all my shit to walk on East Coast,
What's up to the ridahs in L.A, Long Beach, on up to the East Oak...
Shootin' at yo, C-Lo, circle, this is yo virtual,
Dump these pistols, rest that tidal Smith will turn you purple...
Wanna take no fame,
With enemies to the game,
Who'll get that ass tame simple and plain...
Yall know the name, drama, ridahs, thru the whole line up,
Niggas get tired of dumping with they .4,
Then we mobbing thru they hood slow... no need for runnin',
Cause we don't give a fuck,
Cause I before them,
We got to hit they ass on up...

[Hussein Fatal]

Get out the way yo, get out the way yo,
Biggie Smalls just got shot,
And I'm a true nigga stormin',
Nigga take yo fat ass to California,
I catch you on any East Coast corner and you's a goner...
Puffy weaker then a fuckin' block
I'm runnin' thru nigga, and I'll smoke a Junior Maphia in front of you nigga...
With the ready power tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer,
Yo clout petty sour, I'll push packages every hour...
My sons pass moon, slappin' nickels on glass 40's,
So hand me the cash, you made on the Ave.,
But that's yo ass shorty...
I gotta team that sell more bottles then soda,
Move my ears like yoda,
Quick as a cobra and never sober...

[Khadafi]

I'm on a twelve o'clock cruise to Brooklyn,
And I'm lookin' for the third, let's see no barrel ready to get his life tooken...
So where yo killas at, and feddy,
Trick don't test me to leave yo coward ass striped and a full clip heavy in yo stomach...
Choosen all, yeah nigga runnin',
Poppin' all you cowards that be jockin' a nigga behind you...
You done just about made it on impossible to escape,
With a emergency, visit to the hospital...
I can't wait to meet up with all you bitches in the streets,
So I can leave all you cowards sittin' in yo fuckin' seat when we hit 'em up...

[Storm]

If ya a Big Bad muthafucka, come step to this,
I got points in the clips and winds of the clip...
Who wanna test that, to the 1,2,3, bound to get they ass put under,
Cause the Storm bring nothing but thunder... (that's right)
Who's the bomb nigga, quick to feelthat empty figure,
Situations on my Na-Na, who's the bigga trigga...
Approach a true G, you thought I was begessy,
Now you on yo knees beggin' me...

[Prince Ital] talking