come on come on
take money
come on come on
take money
come on come on
wass up niggas
First off, **** yo' bitch 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 Boys, niggas ****ed for life
Plus, Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. is some mark-ass bitches
We keep on comin' while we runnin' for your jewels
Steady gunnin', keep on bustin' at them fools, you know the rules
Lil' Caesar, go ask your homie how I'll leave ya
Cut your young-ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil' Kim, don't **** around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off the streets, so **** peace!
I'll let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the Westside ride tonight (ha ha ha)
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
**** with me and get yo' caps peeled, you know
See, grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh
Who shot me? But you punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up!
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little Moo', pass the MAC
And let me hit him in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right for settin' traps
Little accident murderer
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 ass 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
Tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
Your clout petty/sour
I push packages every hour; I hit 'em up!
Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh
Who shot me? But you punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I 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 your mouths open
Tryna come up off of me, you in the clouds, hopin'
Smokin' dope, it's like a sherm high
Niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn, mother****er, you deserve to die
Talkin' about 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', out of prison, pistols in the air (ha ha)
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
And beg a bitch 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 back to set the record straight
With my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hate
I'm from N-E-W Jers' where plenty of murders occurs
No points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs
Now go check the scenario: Lil' Cease
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 click smoked up
What the ****, is you stupid?
I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my click 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
All your fake-ass 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 Alize 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 mother****in' joke
Thug Life, niggas better be knowin'
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!
we hit'em up