Letras de Canciones de 2pac (Tupac Shakur) - Hit 'em up (versión actual VS versión 1)

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Versiõn actual de
Letras de Canciones de
2pac (Tupac Shakur)
Hit 'em up

(http://es.mp3lyrics.org/0-9/2pac/hit-em-up/)

Versión actual de las letras

Versiõn 1 de
Letras de Canciones de
2pac (Tupac Shakur)
Hit 'em up

(http://es.mp3lyrics.org/0-9/2pac/hit-em-up/v1.html)

La versión 1 de la letra

[Tupac]

I ain't got no mutha-fuckin friends,

that's why I fucked your bitch

So I f**ked your bi**h

You fat muthafucka (Take Money)

You fat mutha-f**ka {Take Money}

West Side

Bad Boy Killers (Take Money)

Bad Boy Killers {Take Money}

You know who the realist is

niggas we bring it to (Take Money)

ni**as we bring it to {Take Money}

(ha ha, that's alright)

First off, fucked your bitch

First off, f**k your bi**h

And the click you claim

West side when we ride

Come equipped with game

You claim to be a playa

But, I fucked your wife

But, I f**ked your wife

We bust on Bad Boys

niggas fuck for Life

ni**as f**k for Life

Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak

Hearts I rip

Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia

Some mark ass bitches

Some mark a*s bi**hes

We keep on coming

While we running for yah jewels

Steady gunning

Keep on busting at them fools

You know the rules

Little Ceasar go ask you homie

How I'll leave yah

How i'll leave yah

Cut your young ass up

Cut your young a*s up

See yah in pieces

Now be deceased

Little Kim,

Don't fuck with real ass G's

Don't f**k with real a*s G's

Quick to snatch your ugly

a*s, off the streets

So fuck peace

So f**k peace

I'll let them niggas know

I'll let them ni**as know

It's on for Life

Don't let the west side

Ride the night (ha ha)

Bad Boys murdered on Wax and kill

fuck with me

f**k with me

And get your caps peeled

You know, See

[Chorus]

Grab your glocks when you see 2pac

Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh

Who shot me,

But, your punks didn't finish

Now, you 'bout to feel the

wrath of a menace

nigga, I hit 'em up

ni**a, I hit 'em up

Check this out

You mutha-fuckas know what time it is

You mutha-f**kas know what time it is

I don't know why I'm even on this track

Y'all niggas ain't even on my level

Y'all ni**as ain't even on my level

I'm going to let my little homies

Ride on yah

bitch made ass Bad Boys bitches

bi**h made a*s Bad Boys bi**hes

(ahh yo, yo, hold the fuck up)

{ahh yo, yo, hold the f**k up}

Get out the way yo

Biggie Smalls just got dropped

Little move pass the mac

Little move pa*s the mac

And let me hit 'em in his back

Frank White needs to get spanked right

For setting up traps

Little accident murderers

And I ain't never heard of yah

Poise less gats attack

when I'm serving yah

Spank the shank

Your whole style when I gank

Guard your rank

Cause I'm a slam your ass in a pang

Cause I'm a slam your a*s in a pang

Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block

Puffy weaker than a f**kin' block

I'm running through nigga

I'm running through ni**a

And I'm smoking Junior Mafia

In front of yah nigga

In front of yah ni**a

With the ready power

Tucked in my Guess

Under my Eddie Bower

Your clout petty sour

I push packages ever hour

I hit 'em up

[Chorus]

Grab your glocks when you see 2pac

Call the cops when you see 2pac, Uhh

Who shot me,

But, your punks didn't finish

Now, you 'bout to feel the

wrath of a menace

nigga, We hit 'em up

ni**a, We hit 'em up

Peep how we do it

Keep it real

Its penitentiary steel

This ain't no freestyle battle

All you niggas getting killed

All you ni**as getting killed

With your mouths open

Tryin' to come up off of me

You and the clouds hoping

Smoking dope

It's like a Shermine

niggas think they learned to fly

ni**as think they learned to fly

But they burn mutha-fucka

But they burn mutha-f**ka

you deserve to die

Talking about you Getting Money

But its funny to me

All you niggas living bummy

All you ni**as living bummy

While you fucking with me?

While you f**king with me?

I'm a self made Millionaire

Thug livin', out of prison

Pistols in the Air (Air) (Ha Ha)

Pistols in the Air {Air} (Ha Ha)

Biggie remember when I

use to let you sleep on

the couch

And beg the bitch to let you

And beg the bi**h to let you

sleep in the house

Now its 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 A-K

I'm still the thug that you love to hate

Mutha-fucka I'll Hit 'Em Up

Mutha-f**ka I'll Hit 'Em Up

I'm from N W New Jers.

Where plenty of murder occurs

No points to come

We bring drama to all you herds

Now go check the scenerio

Little Ceas'

I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees

Copin' pleas with these

Little Kim is yah

Coked up or doped up

Get your little Junior

Whopper click smoked up

What the fuck?

What the f**k?

Is you stupid?

I take money,

crash and mash through Brooklyn

With my click looting,

shooting, and polluting

your block

With fifteen shot,

Cocked glock to your knot

Outlaw Mafia click moving

up another notch

And your Pop stars popped and

get dropped and mopped

And all your fake ass east coast props

And all your fake a*s east coast props

Brainstormed and locked

You'se a B-writer

Pac style taker

I'll tell you to face, you

ain't nothing shit but a

ain't nothing s**t but a

faker

So fill the Alazhay with a chaser

'bout to get murdered for the paper

E.d.i I mean post the scene of the caper

Like a loc, with little

Ceas' in a choke (uhh)

Toting smoke, we ain't no

mutha-fuckin' joke

mutha-f**kin' joke

Thug Life, niggas better be known

Thug Life, ni**as better be known

Be approaching

In the wide open, gun smoking

No need for hoping

It's a battle lost

I gottem crossed as soon as

the funk is bopping off

nigga, I hit 'em up

ni**a, I 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 click

Dressing up to be us

How the fuck they gonna be the Mob?

How the f**k 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 (uhh)

You wanna fuck with us

You wanna f**k with us

You Little young ass mutha-fuckas

You Little young a*s mutha-f**kas

Don't one of you niggas got

Don't one of you ni**as got

sickle-cell or something

You fucking with me, nigga?

You f**king with me, ni**a ?

You fuck around and catch a

You f**k around and catch a

seizure or a heart-attack

You better back the fuck up

You better back the f**k up

Before you get smacked the fuck up

Before you get smacked the f**k up

This is how we do it on our side

Any of you niggas from New York

Any of you ni**as from New York

that want to bring it,

Bring it.

But we ain't singing,

We bringing drama

fuck you and your mother fucking mama.

f**k you and your mother f**king mama.

We gonna kill all you mother fuckers.

We gonna kill all you mother f**kers.

Now when I came out, I

told you it was just about

biggie.

Then everybody had to open

their mouth with a mother

fuckin opinion

f**kin opinion

Well this is how we gon' do this:

fuck Mobb Deep,

f**k Mobb Deep,

fuck Biggie,

f**k Biggie,

fuck Bad Boy as a staff,

f**k Bad Boy as a staff,

record label, and as a

mother fuckin crew.

mother f**kin crew.

And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,

Then fuck you too.

Then f**k you too.

Chino XL, fuck you too.

Chino XL, f**k you too.

All you mother fuckers,

All you mother f**kers,

fuck you too.

f**k you too.

(take money, take money)

All of y'all mother fuckers,

All of y'all mother f**kers,

fuck you, die slow mother fucker.

f**k you, die slow mother f**ker.

My fo' fo' (.44 magnum)

make sure all yo' kids

don't grow.

You mother fuckers can't

You mother f**kers can't

be us or see us.

We mother fuckin' Thug Life riders.

We mother f**kin' Thug Life riders.

West Side till' we die.

Out here in California, nigga

Out here in California, ni**a

We warned ya'

We'll bomb on you mother fuckers.

We'll bomb on you mother f**kers.

We do our job.

You think you the mob,

nigga, we the mother

ni**a, we the mother

fuckin' mob

f**kin' mob

Ain't nuttin' but killers

And the real niggas, all you

And the real ni**as, all you

mother fuckers feel us.

mother f**kers feel us.

Our shit goes triple and four quadruple

Our s**t goes triple and four quadruple

You niggas laugh cuz our

You ni**as laugh cuz our

staff got guns under they

mother fuckin' belts

mother f**kin' belts

You know how it is and we

drop records they felt

You niggas can't feel it

You ni**as can't feel it

We the realist

fuck 'em.

f**k 'em.

We Bad Boy killas.

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