2PAC LYRICS - 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 clique
Dressing up trying to be us
How the fukk 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 (uh)
You wanna fukk with us
You Little young ass motherfukkers
Don't one of you nikkas got sickle-cell or something
You're fukking with me, nikka?
You fukk around and catch a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the fukk up
Before you get smacked the fukk up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you nikkas from New York that want to bring it,
Bring it.
But we ain't singing,
We bringing drama
fukk you and your mother fukking mama.
We're gonna kill all you mother fukkers.
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about biggie.
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fukking opinion
Well this is how we gonna' do this:
fukk Mobb Deep,
fukk Biggie,
fukk Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother fukking crew.
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
Then fukk you too.
Chino XL, fukk you too.
All you mother fukkers,
fukk you too.
(take money, take money)
All of y'all mother fukkers,
fukk you, die slow motherfukker.
My four four (.44 magnum) make sure all your kids don't grow.
You motherfukkers can't be us or see us.
We mother fukkin' Thug Life riders.
West Side till' we die.
Out here in California, nikka
We warned ya'
We'll bomb on you mother fukkers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nikka, we the motherfukkin' mob
Ain't nothing but killers
And the real nikkas, all you motherfukkers feel us.
Our shyt goes triple and four quadruple
You nikkas laugh 'cause our staff got guns under they motherfukkin' belts
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
You nikkas can't feel it
We the realist
fukk 'em.
We Bad Boy killers.
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run (ha ha)
They don't wanna see us
Whole Junior Mafia clique
Dressing up trying to be us
How the fukk 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 (uh)
You wanna fukk with us
You Little young ass motherfukkers
Don't one of you nikkas got sickle-cell or something
You're fukking with me, nikka?
You fukk around and catch a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the fukk up
Before you get smacked the fukk up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you nikkas from New York that want to bring it,
Bring it.
But we ain't singing,
We bringing drama
fukk you and your mother fukking mama.
We're gonna kill all you mother fukkers.
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about biggie.
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fukking opinion
Well this is how we gonna' do this:
fukk Mobb Deep,
fukk Biggie,
fukk Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother fukking crew.
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
Then fukk you too.
Chino XL, fukk you too.
All you mother fukkers,
fukk you too.
(take money, take money)
All of y'all mother fukkers,
fukk you, die slow motherfukker.
My four four (.44 magnum) make sure all your kids don't grow.
You motherfukkers can't be us or see us.
We mother fukkin' Thug Life riders.
West Side till' we die.
Out here in California, nikka
We warned ya'
We'll bomb on you mother fukkers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nikka, we the motherfukkin' mob
Ain't nothing but killers
And the real nikkas, all you motherfukkers feel us.
Our shyt goes triple and four quadruple
You nikkas laugh 'cause our staff got guns under they motherfukkin' belts
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
You nikkas can't feel it
We the realist
fukk 'em.
We Bad Boy killers.
Outlaws killed the momentum for the song to me, strictly could've been pac.
yall nikkaz with this reverse psychology shyt 
u said this repeatedly... YET, refuse to post ur top10
