Hit 'em Up

We, the, Outlawz (Prison in America)
 Yeah, (If you think there's no justice, think again)
 Hey yo. I think ya'll gonna like this next song
 (I think they do)
 When this song drop, y'all gots to go crazy
 I want all the West Coast people to give up some love
 When this song come on (Ya'll got to go crazy)
 They tried to ban this song (Everybody)
 They don't wanna play my song
 But they wanna play fat boy over here
 What? Come on, come on (Take money)
 Come on, come on (Take money)
 Come on, come on (What's up)
 First off, f- and the clique you claim
 Westside when we ride, come equipped with game
 You claim to be a player, but I f- your wife
 We bust on Bad Boys, niggas f- 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 up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
 Lil' Kim, don't f- around with real G's
 Quick to snatch yo' off the streets, so f- peace
 I'll let them n- know it's on for life
 Don't let the Westside ride tonight (ha ha ha)
 Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
 F- 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
 N-, I hit 'em up! Yes, yo' aha, Outlawz ey
 Check this out
 West Coast, West fo' life, what's up, hit me
 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 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 a- in the paint
 P- weaker than the f- ' block I'm runnin' through, n-
 And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, n-
 With the ready power
 Tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
 I push packages every hour, I hit 'em up!
 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, say what?
 Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel
 This ain't no freestyle battle, all you n- 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
 N- think they learned to fly
 But they burn, you deserve to die
 Talkin' about you gettin' money, but it's funny to me
 All you n- livin' bummy, why you f- 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 motherfuckin' joke
 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
 I hit 'em up, what, what? Huh, huh, yeah
 We hit 'em up
 Grab your glocks when you see Tupac
 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
 Hit 'em up, that's right!
 (Take money, take money)