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What's Up?
So I fucked your bitch
You fat
mutha-fucka {Take Money}
West Side
Bad Boy Killers {Take Money}
You know
who the realist is
Niggas we bring
it to {Take Money}
[ha ha, that's
alright]
First off, fuck your
bitch
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
We bust on
Bad Boys
Niggas fuck for Life
Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak
Hearts
I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia
Some mark ass bitches
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
Cut your young ass
up
See yah in pieces
Now be deceased
Little Kim,
Don't fuck with real ass G's
Quick
to snatch your ugly ass, off the streets
So fuck peace
I'll let them niggas
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
And get your caps peeled
You know,
See
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
Check this
out
You mutha-fuckas 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
I'm going to let my little
homies
Ride on yah
Bitch made ass Bad Boys bitches
{ahh
yo, yo, hold the fuck up}
Get
out the way yo
Get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little
move pass 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
Gaurd your rank
Cause I'm a slam your ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block
I'm running through nigga
And I'm
smoking Junior Mafia
In front of yah
nigga
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
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
Peep how
we do it
Keep it real
Its penitentary steel
This ain't no
freestyle battle
All you niggas 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
But they burn
mutha-fucka you deserve to die
Talking
about you Getting Money
But its funny
to me
All you niggas living bummy
While you fucking with me?
I'm a self made Millioniare
Thug livin',
out of prison
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 sleep on 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
I'm from N E W jers.
Where plenty of murders 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?
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 knotch
And your [?"Pop stars" pops?] and get dropped and mopped
And all your fake ass east coast props
Brainstormed and locked
You's
a B-writer
Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
Soften the Alize with a chaser
Bout
to get murdered for the paper
Idi
Amin approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke [uhh]
Toting smoke, we ain't no mutha-fuckin' joke
Thug Life, niggas 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 boping off
Nigga, 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?
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 Little young ass mutha-fuckas
Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something
You fucking with me, nigga ?
You fuck
around and catch a siezure or a heart-attack
You better back the fuck up
Before
you get smacked the fuck up
This is
how we do it on our side
Any of you
niggas 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.
We gonna kill
all you mother fuckers.
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
Well this is how we gon' do this:
Fuck Mobb Deep,
Fuck Biggie,
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother fuckin crew.
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
Then fuck you too.
Chino XL, fuck
you too.
All you mother fuckers,
Fuck you too.
(take money, take money)
All of y'all mother fuckers,
Fuck
you, die slow mother fucker.
My fo'
fo' (.44 magnum) make sure all yo' kids don't grow.
You mother fuckers can't be us or see us.
We mother fuckin' Thug Life riders.
West Side till' we die.
Out here in
California, nigga
We warned ya'
We'll bomb on you mother fuckers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob,
nigga, we the mother fuckin' mob
Ain't
nuttin' but killers
And the real niggas,
all you mother fuckers feel us.
Our
shit goes tripple and four quadruple
You niggas laugh cuz our staff got guns under they mother fuckin' belts
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
You niggas can't feel it
We the realist
Fuck 'em.
We Bad Boy killas.
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