Текст и перевод песни 2Pac — Hit ’em Up

I ain't got no motherf*ckin friends
That's why I f*cked yo' b*tch, you fat motherf*cker
(take money) West side!!
Bad Boy killers

(take money) You know who the realest is n****z
(take money) We bring it to you
(take money)

First off, f*ck your b*tch and the click you claim
Westside when we ride come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I f*cked your wife
We bust on Bad Boy n****z f*cked for life
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-a*s b*tches
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 a*s up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
Lil' Kim, don't f*ck around with real G's
Quick to snatch yo' ugly a*s off the streets, so f*ck peace
I let them n****z know it's on for life
So let the Westside ride tonight - hahahah
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
F*ck wit' me and get yo' caps peeled, you know ... see ...

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***A, I hit em' up...

Check this out, you motherf*ckers know what time it is
I don't even know why I'm on this track
Y'all n****z ain't even on my level
I'ma let my little homies ride on you

b*tch made-a*s bad boy b*tches -- deal with it!!

Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls 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 traps
Little accident murderers, and I ain't never heard-a ya
Poisinous 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*s in the paint
Puffy weaker than the f*ckin block I'm runnin through n***a
And I'm smokin Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you n***a
With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
Ya clout petty sour, I get packages every hour to hit 'em up

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***A, I hit em' up...

Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel

this ain't no freestyle battle, all you n****z gettin killed
with ya mouths open
Tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hopin
Smokin d*pe it's like a sherm high n****z think they learned to fly
But they burn motherf*cker, you deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money but it's funny to me
All you n****z livin bummy why you f*ckin with me?
I'm a self made millionare
Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, haha
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
and beg a b*tch to let you sleep in the house, hah
Now its all about Versacci, you copied my style
Источник teksty-pesenok.ru
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 that you love to hate
Motherf*cker, I hit 'em up

I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occurs
No points in common, we bringin drama to all you herbs
Knuckle check the scenario, Lil' Cease
I bring you fake G's to your knees, coppin pleas you Degenario
Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?
Get ya lil' Jr. Whopper click smoked up, what the f*ck
is you STUPID?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
with my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block
with 15 shots c*ck glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click movin up another notch
And your box top spots get mopped and dropped
and all your fake-a*s East coast props brainstormed and locked

Youse a, beat biter, a Pac style taker
I'll tell you to ya face you ain't sh*t but a faker
Softer than Alize with a chaser

Bout to get murdered for the paper
Edi Amin approach the scene of the caper, like a loc
With Lil' Ceaser in a choke, huh totin smoke
We ain't no motherf*ckin joke Thug Life n****z better be knowin
We approchin, in the wide open, guns smokin
No need for hopin it's a battle lost, I got 'em crossed
As soon as the funk was poppin off, n***a I hit 'em up

Now you tell me who won? I see them, they run
Hehehehe, they don't wanna see us
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. click dressin up tryin to be us
How the f*ck they gon' 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*ck with us?
You little young-a*s motherf*ckers

Don't one of you n****z got sickle cell or somethin?
You f*ckin with me n***a you f*ck around
and have a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f*ck up, 'fore you get smacked the f*ck up
That's how we do it on our side
Any of you n****z from New York that wanna bring it bring it
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama
F*ck you and your motherf*ckin mama
We gon' kill all you motherf*ckers
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie

Then everybody had to open they mouth with a motherf*ckin opinion
Well this how we gon' do this
F*ck Mobb Deep, F*ck Biggie, F*ck Bad Boy as a staff record label
and as a motherf*ckin crew
And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy; then f*ck you too
Chino XL, f*ck you too
All you motherf*ckers, f*ck you too

(take money)
(take money)
Alla y'all motherf*ckers, f*ck you die slow motherf*cker
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow
You motherf*ckers can't be us or see us
We the motherf*ckin Thug Life ridahs Westside till we die!
Out here in California n***a we warn ya
We'll BOMB on you motherf*ckers, we do OUR job
You think you mob, n***a we the motherf*ckin mob
Ain't nuttin but killers and the real n****z
All you motherf*ckers feel us
Our sh*t's goin triple and four-quadruple
(take money)

You n****z laugh cause our staff got, guns in they motherf*ckers belts
You know how it is when we drop records they felt
You n****z can't feel it, we the realest
F*CK 'EM, we Bad Boy killin