Intro: Tupac
I ain't got no m*********** friends
That's why I f***** yo' b****, you fat m***********
(take money) West side!!
Bad Boy killers
(take money) You know the realest is n*****
(take money) We bring it to you
(take money)
Verse One: Tupac
First off, f*** your b**** in the c*** you claim
West side when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I f***** your wife
We bust on Bad Boy n***** f***** for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark a** b******
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 a** up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil Kim, don't f*** around with real G's
Quick to s***** yo' ugly a** off tha street, so f*** peace
I let them n***** know it's on for life
So let the West side ride tonight hahahah
Bad Boy murdered on wax, and killed
f*** 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
n****, I hit em' up...
Interlude: Tupac
Check this out, you m****f****s 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
b**** made-a** bad boy b****** -- deal with it!!
Verse Two:
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***** rocka wanna do, n****
and, I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you, n****
With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
ya clout, pretty sour I get 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 n***** 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
n***** think they learned to fly
But they burned m****f****, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money, but its funny to me
All you n***** living b**my, while you f*****' wit 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 b**** 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
m***********, I hit em up
Verse Four:
I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur
No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you heards
Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin pleas cuz this ain't your area
Lil Kim, is you c**ed up, or doped up?
Get ya lil Junior Whopper click smoked up, what the f***
is you STUPID?!?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
with my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block
with 15 shots c*** glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click movin up another notch
And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped
All your fake-a** east coast props brainstormed and locked
Verse Four:
Youse a, beat b***r, a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you aint s*** 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 m****f***in joke
Thug Life, n***** 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
n**** 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*** 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*** with us?
You little young a** m************
Don't one of you n***** got sickle cell or somethin?
You f***** with me n**** you f*** around
and have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f*** up, fore you get smacked the f*** up
That's how we do it on our side
Any of you n***** from New York that wanna bring it bring it
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama
f*** you and your m*********** mama
We gonna kill all you m************
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a m*********** opinion
Well this how we gonna do this
f*** Mobb Deep
f*** Biggie
f*** Bad Boy as a staff record label
and as a m*********** crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy
Then f*** you too
Chino XL, f*** you too
All you m************, f*** you too
(take money)
(take money)
Alla y'all m************, f*** you die slow m***********
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You m************ can't be us or see us
We the m*********** Thug Life ridahs West side till we die!
Out here in California we warn ya we'll bomb on you m************
We do our job
You think you mob, n**** we the m*********** mob
Ain't nuttin but killers and the real n*****
All you m************ feel us
Our s***'s going triple and four-quadruple
(take money)
You n***** blast as our staff got guns at they
m************ back, you know how it is
When we drop records they feel it
You n***** can't feel it
We the realest, f*** EM, we Bad Boy killin *echoes
I ain't got no m*********** friends
That's why I f***** yo' b****, you fat m***********
(take money) West side!!
Bad Boy killers
(take money) You know the realest is n*****
(take money) We bring it to you
(take money)
Verse One: Tupac
First off, f*** your b**** in the c*** you claim
West side when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I f***** your wife
We bust on Bad Boy n***** f***** for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark a** b******
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 a** up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil Kim, don't f*** around with real G's
Quick to s***** yo' ugly a** off tha street, so f*** peace
I let them n***** know it's on for life
So let the West side ride tonight hahahah
Bad Boy murdered on wax, and killed
f*** 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
n****, I hit em' up...
Interlude: Tupac
Check this out, you m****f****s 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
b**** made-a** bad boy b****** -- deal with it!!
Verse Two:
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***** rocka wanna do, n****
and, I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you, n****
With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
ya clout, pretty sour I get 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 n***** 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
n***** think they learned to fly
But they burned m****f****, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money, but its funny to me
All you n***** living b**my, while you f*****' wit 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 b**** 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
m***********, I hit em up
Verse Four:
I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur
No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you heards
Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees
Coppin pleas cuz this ain't your area
Lil Kim, is you c**ed up, or doped up?
Get ya lil Junior Whopper click smoked up, what the f***
is you STUPID?!?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
with my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block
with 15 shots c*** glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click movin up another notch
And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped
All your fake-a** east coast props brainstormed and locked
Verse Four:
Youse a, beat b***r, a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you aint s*** 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 m****f***in joke
Thug Life, n***** 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
n**** 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*** 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*** with us?
You little young a** m************
Don't one of you n***** got sickle cell or somethin?
You f***** with me n**** you f*** around
and have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f*** up, fore you get smacked the f*** up
That's how we do it on our side
Any of you n***** from New York that wanna bring it bring it
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama
f*** you and your m*********** mama
We gonna kill all you m************
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a m*********** opinion
Well this how we gonna do this
f*** Mobb Deep
f*** Biggie
f*** Bad Boy as a staff record label
and as a m*********** crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy
Then f*** you too
Chino XL, f*** you too
All you m************, f*** you too
(take money)
(take money)
Alla y'all m************, f*** you die slow m***********
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You m************ can't be us or see us
We the m*********** Thug Life ridahs West side till we die!
Out here in California we warn ya we'll bomb on you m************
We do our job
You think you mob, n**** we the m*********** mob
Ain't nuttin but killers and the real n*****
All you m************ feel us
Our s***'s going triple and four-quadruple
(take money)
You n***** blast as our staff got guns at they
m************ back, you know how it is
When we drop records they feel it
You n***** can't feel it
We the realest, f*** EM, we Bad Boy killin *echoes