They Tryin' To Kill Me - 2Pac (图派克)

That's why I f**ked your b***h

You're fat motherf**ker take money

West side

Bad boy killers take money

You know who the realist is

N***as we bring it to take money

Ha ha take money

First off f**k your b***h

And the click you claim

West side when we ride

Come equipped with game

You claim to be a player

But I f**ked your wife

We bust on bad boys

N***as f**k for life

Plus puffy tryin' to see me weak

Hearts I rip

Biggie smalls and junior mafia

Some mark a*s b***hes

We keep on coming

While we running for your jewels

Steady gunning

Keep on busting at them fools

You know the rules

Little ceasar go ask you homie

How I'll leave you

Cut your young a*s up

See you in pieces

Now be deceased

Little kim

Don't f**k around with real g's

Quick to snatch your ugly a*s off the streets

So f**k peace

I'll let them n***as know

It's on for life

Don't let the west side

Ride the night ha ha

Bad boys murdered on wax and kill

F**k with me

And get your caps peeled

You know see

Grab your glocks when you see 2pac

Call the cops when you see 2pac uh

Who shot me

But your punks didn't finish

Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace

N***a I hit 'em up

Check this out

You motherf**kers know what time it is

I don't know why I'm even on this track

You all n***as ain't even on my level

I'm going to let my little homies

Ride on you

B***h made a*s bad boys b***hes

Ah yo yo hold the f**k 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 you

Poise less gats attack when I'm serving you

Spank the shank

Your whole style when I gank

Guard your rank

'Cause I'm a slam your a*s in a pang

Puffy weaker than a f**kin' block

I'm running through n***a

And I'm smoking junior mafia

In front of you n***a

With the ready power

Tucked in my guess

Under my eddie bauer

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 uh

Who shot me

But your punks didn't finish

Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace

N***a I hit 'em up

Peep how we do it

Keep it real

Its penitentiary steel

This ain't no freestyle battle

All you n***as getting killed

With your mouths open

Tryin' to come up off of me

You and the clouds hoping

Smoking d**e

It's like a shermine

N***as think they learned to fly

But they burn motherf**ker you deserve to die

Talking about you getting money

But it's funny to me

All you n***as living bummy

While you f**king with me

I'm a self made millionaire

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 b***h 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 a-k

I'm still the thug that you love to hate

Mother-f**ker I'll hit 'em up

I'm from n e w jers

Where plenty of murder occurs

No points to come

We bring drama to all you herds

Now go check the scenario

Little ceas'

I'll bring you fake g's to your knees

Copin' pleas with these

Little kim is you

Coked up or d**ed up

Get your little junior whopper click smoked up

What the f**k

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 notch

And your pop stars popped and get dropped and mopped

And all your fake a*s east coast props

Brainstormed and locked

You're a beat biter

Pac style taker

I'll tell you to face you ain't nothing s**t but a faker

So fill the alize with a chaser

'Bout to get murdered for the paper

Edi I mean post the scene of the caper

Like a loc with little ceas' in a choke uh

Toting smoke we ain't no motherf**kin' joke

Thug life n***as 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 bopping off

N***a 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 f**k 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 uh

You wanna f**k with us

You little young a*s motherf**kers

Don't one of you n***as got sickle-cell or something

You're f**king with me n***a

You f**k around and catch a seizure or a heart-attack

You better back the f**k up

Before you get smacked the f**k up

This is how we do it on our side

Any of you n***as from new york that want to bring it

Bring it

But we ain't singing

We bringing drama

F**k you and your mother f**king mama

We're gonna kill all you mother f**kers

Now when I came out I told you it was just about biggie

Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother f**king opinion

Well this is how we gonna' do this

F**k mobb deep

F**k biggie

F**k bad boy as a staff record label

And as a mother f**king crew

And if you want to be down with bad boy

Then f**k you too

Chino xl f**k you too

All you mother f**kers

F**k you too

Take money take money

All of y'all mother f**kers

F**k you die slow motherf**ker

My four four 44 magnum make sure all your kids don't grow

You motherf**kers can't be us or see us

We mother f**kin' thug life riders

West side till' we die

Out here in california n***a

We warned ya'

We'll bomb on you mother f**kers

We do our job

You think you the mob n***a we the motherf**kin' mob

Ain't nothing but killers

And the real n***as all you motherf**kers feel us

Our s**t goes triple and four quadruple

You n***as laugh 'cause our staff got guns under

They motherf**kin' belts

You know how it is and we drop records they felt

You n***as can't feel it

We the realist

F**k 'em

We bad boy killers