Artist: 2Pac
Track: Hit 'Em Up

Lyrics
(It's a race to the death)
(Inside the most criminal prison in America)
Yeah
(If you think there's no justice, think again)
Ayo
(Now only ha-) I think y'all gonna like this next song
(Inside the secret cell block) I think they do
(Where they keep the baddest of the bad) when this song drops
(Y'all got to go crazy)
I want all the West Coast people to give up some love when this song come up
(If you do the crime) y'all got to go crazy
(You just might do the time) they try to ban this song
They don't wanna play my song
But they want to play Fat Boy all goddamn day

(What?)
Come on, come on (take money)
Come on, come on (take money)
Come on, come on (take money)
What's up nigga?

First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim
Westside when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boy, niggas fucked for life
Plus Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip (rip)
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-ass bitches
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 ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil' Kim, don't fuck around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace
I let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the Westside ride tonight
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
Fuck wit' me and get yo' caps peeled, you know (niggas say)

Grab ya Glocks when you see Tupac (what?)
Call the cops when you see Tupac, uh (what?)
Who shot me? But you punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, we hit em' up

(Take money) yes, yo, ha
Outlawz in this motherfucker (take money)
West Coast (Take money)
What's up? (So live)
What's up? (Yeah, yeah)

Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got shot
Little Moo, pass 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 ass in the paint
Puffy weaker than the fuckin' 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

Oh
Call the cops when you see Tupac
Who shot me? But you punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit em' up (say what?)

Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle
All you niggas gettin' killed with ya mouths open
Tryin' to 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 motherfucker, you deserve to die
Talkin' 'bout you gettin' money but it's funny to me
All you niggas livin' bummy, why you fuckin' 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 bitch to let you sleep in the house?
Ha, ha, 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 A.K. I'm still the thug that you love to hate
Motherfucker, I hit 'em-

I'm from N-E-W Jers'
Where plenty murders occurs
No points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs
Now check the scenario
Little Ceas', I'll bring you fake G's to your knees
Copping pleas in de Janeiro
Big mama, is you coked up or doped up?
Get your little Junior Whopper clique smoked up
(What the fuck?) Please tell me, is you stupid?
I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my clique looting, shooting and polluting your block
With a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot
Outlaw MAFIA clique moving 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, you's a)

You's a beat biter (what?)
A Pac style taker (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 motherfucking joke
Nigga, better be known
We approaching in the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping, it's a battle lost
I got 'em crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off (ha, ha)
Nigga, I hit 'em up

What? What?
Ha (uh)
Yeah (uh-huh)

We hit 'em up
Grab ya Glocks, when you see Tu-, what? (Say what?)
Call the cops (grab ya Glocks)
Come on with the next shit (yeah)
Who shot me? But ya punks didn't finish
Now ya 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, we hit em' up

That's right (take money)
Go
Yo
Y'all gotta keep this shit real