دانلود آهنگ hit em up از 2pac

I ain’t got no ‘ friends (sucka-)
That’s why I ed yo’ , you fat motherer
West side, Bad Boy killers (take money, take money)
You know who the realest is, niggas, we bring it to you (take money)
That’s aight
(Take money)
First off, your and the clique you claim
Westside when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I ed your wife
We bust on Bad Boy niggas ed for life
Plus, Puffy tryin’ to see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark- es
We keep on comin’ while we runnin’ for yo’ jewels
Steady gunnin’, keep on bustin’ at them fools, you know the rules
Lil’ Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave ya
Cut your young up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil’ Kim, don’t around with real G’s
Quick to snatch yo’ ugly off the streets, so peace
I let them niggas know it’s on for life
Don’t let the Westside ride tonight (haha)
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
Fuck wit’ me and get yo’ caps peeled, you know, see
Grab ya Glocks when you see Tupac
Call the cops when you see Tupac, uh
Who shot me? But ya punks didn’t finish
Now ya ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit em’ up
Check this out, you motherers know what time it is (take money)
I don’t even know why I’m on this track (take money)
Y’all niggas ain’t even on my level
I’ma let my little homies ride on you (take money)
Bitch made- Bad Boy es, feel it (hey, yo, yo, hold the up, yo)
Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little Mu’, p the MAC and let me hit him in his back
Frank White need to get spanked right for settin’ traps
Little accident murderers 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 your rank ’cause I’ma slam your in the paint
Puffy weaker than the in’ block I’m runnin’ through, nigga
And I’m smokin’ Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, nigga
With the ready power tuckin’ my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
Ya clout petty sour, I push packages every hour, hit ’em up
Grab ya Glocks when you see Tupac
Call the cops when you see Tupac, uh
Who shot me? But ya punks didn’t finish
Now ya ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, we hit em’ up
Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel
This ain’t no freestyle battle
All you niggas gettin’ killed with ya mouths open
Tryna come up offa me, you in the clouds hopin’
Smokin’ dope, it’s like a sherm high, niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn, motherer, you deserve to die
Talkin’ ’bout you gettin’ money but it’s funny to me
All you niggas livin’ bummy why you in’ with 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 beg a to let you sleep in the house?
Now it’s all about Versace, 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 that you love to hate
Motherer, I hit ’em up
I’m from N-E-W Jers’
Where plenty murders occurs
No points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs
Now go check the scenario
Little Ceas’, I’ll bring you fake G’s to your knees
Coppin’ pleas in de Janeiro
Little Kim, is you coked up or doped up?
Get your little Junior Whopper clique smoked up
What the , is you stupid?
I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my clique lootin’, shootin’ and pollutin’ your block
With a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot
Outlaw MAFIA clique movin’ up another notch
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
And all your fake East Coast props
Brainstormed and locked
You’s a beat biter
A Pac style taker
I’ll tell you to your face you ain’t shit but a faker
Softer than Alizé with a chaser
About to get murdered for the paper
E.D.I Mean approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with Little Ceas’ in a choke
Gun totin’ smoke, we ain’t no ‘ joke
Thug Life, niggas better be known
We approachin’ in the wide open, gun smokin’
No need for hopin’, it’s a battle lost
I got ’em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin’ off
Nigga, I hit ’em up
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run (hahaha)
They don’t wanna see us (take money)
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique
Dressing up trying to be us (take money)
How the they gon’ be the mob when we always on our job? (Take money)
We millionaires
Killin’ ain’t fair but somebody gotta do it (take money)
Oh yeah, Mobb Deep (take money) you wanna with us?
You little young- motherers (take money)
Don’t one of you niggas got sickle cell or something? (Take money)
You ing with me
Nigga, you around and have a seizure or a heart attack (take money)
You better back the up ‘fore you get smacked the up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you niggas from New York that wanna bring it, bring it
But we ain’t singin’, we bringin’ drama
Fuck you and your ‘ mama
We gon’ kill all you motherers
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a ‘ opinion
Well this is how we gon’ do this
Fuck Mobb Deep, Biggie
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a ‘ crew
And if you want to be down with Bad Bo, then you too
Chino XL, you too
All you motherers, you too (take money, take money)
All of y’all motherers, you, die slow, motherer
My .44 make sure all y’all kids don’t grow
You motherers can’t be us or see us
We ‘ Thug Life riders, Westside ’til we die
Out here in California, nigga, we warned ya
We’ll bomb on you motherers, we do our job
You think you mob? Nigga, we the ‘ mob
Ain’t nothin’ but killers and the real niggas
All you motherers feel us
Our shits go triple and 4-quadruple
(Take money)
You niggas laugh ’cause our staff got
Guns in they motherers belts
You know how it is when we drop records, they felt
You niggas can’t feel it, we the realest
Fuck ’em, we Bad Boy killers (we killers)