Hit Em Up Lyrics is an English song sung by Tupac Shakur from the album Death Row Greatest Hits. Hit Em Up Lyrics song Track Number 12 is written by 2Pac, Johnny J, Yaki Kadafi, E.D.I. Mean, Hussein Fatal, Franne Golde, Duane Hitchings and Dennis Lambert.
Hit Em Up Lyrics
| Song | Hit Em Up |
| Artist | Tupac Shakur |
| Album | Death Row Greatest Hits |
| Released | 1996 |
| Writer | 2Pac, Johnny J, Yaki Kadafi, E.D.I. Mean, Hussein Fatal, Franne Golde, Duane Hitchings and Dennis Lambert |
| Category | English Song Lyrics |
Tupac Shakur Hit Em Up Lyrics
I ain’t got no motherfuckin’ friends (sucka-ass)That’s why I fucked yo’ bitch, you fat motherfuckerWest side, Bad Boy killers (take money, take money)You know who the realest is, niggas, we bring it to you (take money)That’s aight
(Take money)
First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claimWestside when we ride, come equipped with gameYou claim to be a player but I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boy niggas fucked for lifePlus, Puffy tryin’ to see me weak hearts I ripBiggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-ass bitchesWe keep on comin’ while we runnin’ for yo’ jewels
Steady gunnin’, keep on bustin’ at them fools, you know the rulesLil’ Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave yaCut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceasedLil’ Kim, don’t fuck around with real G’s
Quick to snatch yo’ ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peaceI let them niggas know it’s on for lifeDon’t let the Westside ride tonight (haha)Bad Boy murdered on wax and killedFuck wit’ me and get yo’ caps peeled, you know, see
Grab ya Glocks when you see TupacCall the cops when you see Tupac, uhWho shot me? But ya punks didn’t finishNow ya ’bout to feel the wrath of a menaceNigga, I hit em’ up
Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is (take money)I don’t even know why I’m on this track (take money)Y’all niggas ain’t even on my levelI’ma let my little homies ride on you (take money)Bitch made-ass Bad Boy bitches, feel it (hey, yo, yo, hold the fuck up, yo)
Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got droppedLittle Mu’, pass the MAC and let me hit him in his backFrank White need to get spanked right for settin’ trapsLittle accident murderers and I ain’t never heard of ya
Poisonous gats attack when I’m servin’ yaSpank ya, shank ya whole style when I gankGuard your rank ’cause I’ma slam your ass in the paintPuffy weaker than the fuckin’ block I’m runnin’ through, nigga
And I’m smokin’ Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, niggaWith the ready power tuckin’ my Guess under my Eddie BauerYa clout petty sour, I push packages every hour, hit ’em up
Grab ya Glocks when you see Tupac
Call the cops when you see Tupac, uhWho shot me? But ya punks didn’t finishNow ya ’bout to feel the wrath of a menaceNigga, we hit em’ up
Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steelThis ain’t no freestyle battleAll you niggas gettin’ killed with ya mouths openTryna come up offa me, you in the clouds hopin’
Smokin’ dope, it’s like a sherm high, niggas think they learned to flyBut they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to dieTalkin’ ’bout you gettin’ money but it’s funny to meAll you niggas livin’ bummy why you fuckin’ with me?
I’m a self-made millionaireThug livin’ outta prison, pistols in the airBiggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couchAnd beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house?
Now it’s all about Versace, you copied my styleFive shots couldn’t drop me, I took it and smiledNow I’m ’bout to set the record straightWith my AK, I’m still the thug that you love to hate
Motherfucker, I hit ’em up
I’m from N-E-W Jers’Where plenty murders occursNo points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs
Now go check the scenarioLittle Ceas’, I’ll bring you fake G’s to your kneesCoppin’ pleas in de JaneiroLittle Kim, is you coked up or doped up?
Get your little Junior Whopper clique smoked upWhat the fuck, is you stupid?I take money, crash and mash through BrooklynWith my clique lootin’, shootin’ and pollutin’ your block
With a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knotOutlaw MAFIA clique movin’ up another notchAnd your pop stars popped and get mopped and droppedAnd all your fake ass East Coast props
Brainstormed and locked
You’s a beat biterA Pac style takerI’ll tell you to your face you ain’t shit but a faker
Softer than Alizé with a chaserAbout to get murdered for the paperE.D.I Mean approach the scene of the caperLike a loc, with Little Ceas’ in a choke
Gun totin’ smoke, we ain’t no motherfuckin’ jokeThug Life, niggas better be knownWe 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’ offNigga, I hit ’em up
Now you tell me who wonI see them, they run (hahaha)
They don’t wanna see us (take money)Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. cliqueDressing up trying to be us (take money)How the fuck they gon’ be the mob when we always on our job? (Take money)
We millionairesKillin’ ain’t fair but somebody gotta do it (take money)Oh yeah, Mobb Deep (take money) you wanna fuck with us?You little young-ass motherfuckers (take money)
Don’t one of you niggas got sickle cell or something? (Take money)You fucking with meNigga, you fuck around and have a seizure or a heart attack (take money)You better back the fuck up ‘fore you get smacked the fuck up
This is how we do it on our sideAny of you niggas from New York that wanna bring it, bring itBut we ain’t singin’, we bringin’ dramaFuck you and your motherfuckin’ mama
We gon’ kill all you motherfuckersNow when I came out, I told you it was just about BiggieThen everybody had to open their mouth with a motherfuckin’ opinionWell this is how we gon’ do this
Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck BiggieFuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfuckin’ crewAnd if you want to be down with Bad Bo, then fuck you tooChino XL, fuck you too
All you motherfuckers, fuck you too (take money, take money)All of y’all motherfuckers, fuck you, die slow, motherfuckerMy .44 make sure all y’all kids don’t grow
You motherfuckers can’t be us or see usWe motherfuckin’ Thug Life riders, Westside ’til we dieOut here in California, nigga, we warned yaWe’ll bomb on you motherfuckers, we do our job
You think you mob? Nigga, we the motherfuckin’ mobAin’t nothin’ but killers and the real niggasAll you motherfuckers feel usOur shits go triple and 4-quadruple(Take money)
You niggas laugh ’cause our staff gotGuns in they motherfuckers beltsYou know how it is when we drop records, they feltYou niggas can’t feel it, we the realestFuck ’em, we Bad Boy killers (we killers)
FAQ
Who wrote the “Hit Em Up Lyrics”?
“Hit Em Up Lyrics” by Tupac Shakur was written by 2Pac, Johnny J, Yaki Kadafi, E.D.I. Mean, Hussein Fatal, Franne Golde, Duane Hitchings and Dennis Lambert.
When did Tupac Shakur release “Hit Em Up Lyrics”?
“Hit Em Up Lyrics” released by Tupac Shakur on June 4, 1996.
What is the producer’s name of “Hit Em Up Lyrics”?
“Hit Em Up lyrics were produced by Johnny J.
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