2pac Lyrics

Intro: Tupac
I ain't got no motherf*ckin friends
That's why I f*cked yo' bitch, you fat motherf*cker
(take money) WEESSSSSSIIIIIDE!!
Bad Boy killers
(take money) You know the realest is niggaz
(take money) We bring it to you
(take money)

Verse One: Tupac
First off, f*ck your bitch and the click you claim
WEESSSSSSIIIIIDE when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I f*cked your wife
We bust on Bad Boy niggaz f*cked for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark ass
bitches
We keep on comin' while we runnin for ya jewels
steady gunnin, keep on bustin at the fools, you know
the rules
Little Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave ya
cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be
deceased
Lil Kim, don't f*ck around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off tha street, so f*ck
peace
I let them niggas know it's on for life
So let the West side ride tonight (haha)
Bad Boy murdered on wax, and killed
f*ck wit' me and get ya caps peeled, you know, see...

Chorus:
Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac
Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uhh
Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish
Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace
nigga, I hit em' up...

Interlude: Tupac
Check this out, you muthaf*ckas know what time it is
I don't even know why I'm on this track
ya'll nigguz ain't even on my level
I'ma let my little homies ride on you
bitch made-ass bad boy bitches, deal with it!!

Verse Two: Fatal
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
Biggie Smallz just got dropped
Little Moo, pass the Mac, and let me hit him in his
back
Frank White need to get spanked right, for settin
tracks
little accident murderer, and I ain't never heard-a ya
Poisinous gats attack when I'm servin ya
Spank the shank ya whole style when I dank
Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam you in the pavement
Puffy weaker that a f*ckin rocka wanna do, nigga
and, I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you, nigga
With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie
Bauer
ya clout, pretty sour I push packages every hour
and hit em up

Chorus

Verse Three: Tupac
Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary
steel
this aint no freestyle battle, all you niggaz gettin
killed with ya mouths open
tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hoping
smokin dope it's like a sherm high
Niggaz think they learned to fly
But they burned muthaf*cka, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money but its funny to me
all you niggaz livin bummy why you're f*ckin with me
I'm a self made milionare
Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, hahaha
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on my
couch
and beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house, ahh
Now its all about Versacci, you copied my style
Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it, and smiled
Now I'm bout to set the record straight, with my AK
I'm still the thug you love to hate
Motherf*cker, I hit em up
Verse Four: Kadafi
I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur
No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you
herbs
Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin pleas to 'De Janeiro'
Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?
Get ya lil Junior Whopper click smoked up, what the
f*ck
is you STUPID?!?! I take money, crash and mash through
Brooklyn
with my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block
with 15 shots cock glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click movin up another notch
And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped
All your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and
locked

Verse Five: Edi
Youse a, beat biter, a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you aint shit but a faker
Softer than Alize with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi Amin approach the scene
Write a caper, like a loc, with little ceaser in a
choke hold
Totin smoke, we aint no muthaf*ckin joke
Thug Life, niggaz betta be knowin, we approchin
in the wide open, guns smokin
no need for hopin its a battle lost, I got across
Soon as the funk was poppin off
Nigga I hit em up

Outro: Tupac
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run
They don't wanna see us
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. click dressin up tryin ta be us
How the f*ck 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 f*ck with us?
You little young ass motherf*ckers
Don't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin?
You f*ckin with me nigga you f*ck around
and have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f*ck up, fore you get smacked the
f*ck up
That's how we do it on our side
Any of you niggaz from New York that wanna bring it
bring it
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama
f*ck you and your motherf*ckin mama
We gonna kill all you motherf*ckers
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a
motherf*ckin opinion
Well this how we gonna do this
f*ck Mobb Deep
f*ck Biggie
f*ck Bad Boy as a staff record label
and as a motherf*ckin crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy
Then f*ck you too
Chino XL, f*ck you too
All you motherf*ckers, f*ck you too

(take money)
(take money)
Alla y'all motherf*ckers, f*ck you die slow
motherf*cker
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You motherf*ckers can't be us or see us
We the motherf*ckin Thug Life ridahs WEESSSSSSIIIIIDE
till we die!
Out here in California we warn ya we'll bomb on you
motherf*ckers
We do our job
You think you mob, nigga we the motherf*ckin mob
Ain't nuttin but killers and the real niggaz
All you motherf*ckers feel us
Our shit's going triple and four-quadruple
(take money)
You niggaz laugh coz our staff got guns at they
motherf*ckers belt, you know how it is
When we drop records they felt
You niggaz can't feel it
We the realest, f*ck EM, we Bad Boy killaz!

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