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  • © Copyright (zak-hak@mail.ru)
  • Обновлено: 15/05/2005. 0k. Статистика.
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    * * *

    Hit em up pt2

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  • Автор текста: Бес Таланта
  • Автор музыки: Бес Таланта
  • Исполняет: Бес Таланта
  • Прослушать:[mp3,4599k]
  • Жанр: Другое
  • [2Pac] 
    I ain't got no muthafuckin' friends 
    What y'all niggas talkin' about 
    Hell yeah 
    I'm a do this muthafuckin' track 
    And they know exactly 
    Who I'm talkin' about too 
    You old bitch made niggas 
    Verse 1 
    Niggas talk plenty shit 
    So many tricks 
    I fucked your bitch 
    Cause I'm true to this 
    Witness the hit 
    You talk bad about a nigga 
    When I got blasted 
    Hope you made a little money 
    While the funk lasted 
    Heard they call you Big Poppa 
    Nigga how you figure 
    Cause to me 
    You'll always be a phoney fat nigga 
    I can't be copy these 
    And wearin' Versachi 
    Nigga you run or buck 
    Scared as fuck 
    If the guns would bust 
    Now niggas talk 
    I got a list 
    Of player haters the fakes 
    You bitch niggas 
    Gettin' blown away 
    You cross-eyed 
    Down syndrome 
    Crack baby 
    So you and Puffy are tough 
    Now that's crazy 
    I got your ass in my sight 
    Niggas dyin' tonight 
    We screamin' 
    West Side for life 
    And I can't wait 
    To see you niggas in traffic 
    Cause we gonna get 'em up 
    (Ha ha ha) 
    When you see me 
    You better bust 
    Cause I'm a hit 'em up 
    Grab your glocks 
    When you see Tupac 
    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 we hit 'em up 
    Verse 2 
    It's hard to explain 
    This wasn't my thang 
    When I was younger 
    Before my shit 
    I swear to God 
    I'll make you stick 
    Just to make a come up 
    Niggas run up 
    Cause more murder 
    For the money 
    Got caught up 
    Tryin' to make a harder record 
    Should have been on checked 
    Cause I bet you 
    And it's for life 
    You'll never gonna see a nigga like me 
    Wantin' a battle up on T.V. 
    I'd rather release 
    Some of these 
    And put a slug 
    To you buster ass niggas 
    That continue to squeeze 
    I got some niggas 
    Back in Jersey 
    That would rather be jackin' cars 
    And robbin' bitch niggas 
    Like y'all for emergency 
    Let's take it back 
    To the West Side 
    Them niggas 
    Sure gonna be ridahs 
    And plus we Thug Life niggas 
    So call us multiply 
    Finger on the trigger 
    Bitches stand and rise 
    But we don't trust 'em 
    They might be the first 
    That we gonna bust up 
    Just label me a Bad Boy Killer 
    You Mobb Deep bitches 
    Gonna feel us 
    When we turn into killers 
    Hit 'em up 
    Verse 3 
    Now this is me 
    B. K. 
    All day 
    Ain't no frontin' 
    Ain't no quicker 
    Strictly Bad Boy killin' 
    Shoot that ass like a squealer 
    Now let this muthafucka 
    Top down 
    I'm fittin' to drop rounds 
    Lettin' these sounds 
    Pop and then I'm hot bound 
    Seein' them shatter 
    Shootin' my shit 
    To work a lease go 
    What's up to the ridahs 
    In L.A. 
    Don't preach on up 
    To the East O. 
    Shootin' that so 
    See low 
    That shit don't hurt you 
    Made to turn you purple 
    Wanna take a plane 
    But we enemies 
    To the game 
    Well get that ass tamed 
    Simple and plain 
    Y'all know the name 
    Through the whole night 
    Niggas get taught 
    Then we bobbin' through 
    They hits slow 
    No need for runnin' 
    Cause we don't give a fuck 
    Beside the funky man 
    We got to hit they ass 
    On up 
    Verse 4 
    [Hussein Fatal] 
    Get out the way 
    Get out the way 
    Biggie Smalls just got shot 
    And I'm a true eagle 
    Nigga don't need your fat ass 
    In California 
    I catch you 
    On any East Coast corner 
    And your ass is a goner 
    Puffy hit the fuckin' block 
    I'll run at you nigga 
    And I'll smoke the Junior M.A.F.I.A. 
    In front of you nigga 
    With the ready power 
    Ducked in my guess 
    Under my Eddie Bower 
    You clothes petty sour 
    I push bomb packages 
    Every hour 
    My sons past 
    When slappin' nickels 
    On glass forties 
    So hurry the cash 
    You made on that F 
    Without your ass shorty 
    I got a team 
    Of simple boutable souls 
    With my ears like Yoda 
    Quick as a cobra 
    And never sober 
    Verse 5 
    I'm on a twelve o' clock 
    Cruise to Brooklyn 
    And I'm lookin' 
    For the thirl in your barrel 
    Ready to get his life tookin' 
    So where your killers at 
    You fake trick 
    E.D.I. will leave your coward ass 
    And a full clip 
    In your stomach 
    You been all year nigga 
    Poppin' every coward 
    And every nigga behind you 
    I made it about impossible 
    For you niggas to escape 
    Another murder 
    Or visit to the hospital 
    I can't wait 
    Meet up with all you bitches 
    In the streets 
    So I can leave all you cowards 
    Covered in white sheets 
    When we hit 'em up 
    Verse 6 
    If you a big bad muthafucka 
    Come step to this 
    I got your life in the hit 
    And one hidden in the clip 
    Who wanna test this 
    To the 1 2 3 
    Bound to get they ass 
    Put under 
    Cause the Storm 
    Is bringin' nothin' but thunder 
    Who's the bomb nigga 
    Quick to feel that 
    Kill that sorry nigga 
    Who's the bigger trigger 
    I approached the two g's 
    You though I was easy 
    Now you beggin' on your knees 
  • Оставить комментарий
  • © Copyright (zak-hak@mail.ru)
  • Обновлено: 15/05/2005. 0k. Статистика.
  • Другое

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