Intro: Tupac

I ain't got no motherfuckin friends

That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker

(take money) West side!!

Bad Boy killers

(take money) You know the realest is niggaz

(take money) We bring it to you

(take money)

Verse One: Tupac

First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim

West side when we ride come equipped with game

You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife

We bust on Bad Boy niggaz fucked for life

Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip

Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark ass bitches

We keep on comin' while we runnin for ya jewels

steady gunnin, keep on bustin at the fools, you know the rules

Little Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I leave ya

cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased

Lil Kim, don't fuck around with real G's

Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off tha street, so fuck peace

I let them niggas know it's on for life

So let the West side ride tonight hahahah

Bad Boy murdered on wax, and killed

Fuck wit' me and get ya caps peeled, you know ... see ...

Chorus:

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

NIGGA, I hit em' up...

Interlude: Tupac

Check this out, you muthafuckas know what time it is

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

ya'll nigguz ain't even on my level

I'ma let my little homies ride on you

bitch made-ass bad boy bitches -- deal with it!!

Verse Two:

Get out the way yo, get out the way yo

Biggie Smallz 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 tracks

little accident murderer, and I ain't never heard-a ya

Poisinous gats attack when I'm servin ya

Spank the shank ya whole style when I dank

Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam you in the pavement

Puffy weaker that a fuckin rocka wanna do, nigga

and, I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you, nigga

With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer

ya clout, pretty sour I get packages every hour

and hit em up

Chorus

Verse Three: Tupac

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

this aint no freestyle battle, all you niggaz gettin

killed with ya mouths open

tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hoping

smokin dope it's like a sherm high

Niggaz think they learned to fly

But they burned muthafucka, you deserve to die

Talkin bout you gettin money, but its funny to me

All you niggaz living bummy, while you fuckin' wit me

I'm a self made milionare

Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, hahaha

Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on my couch

and beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house, ahh

Now its all about Versacci, you copied my style

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 you love to hate

Motherfucker, I hit em up

Verse Four:

I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur

No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you herbs

Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease

I bring you fake G's to your knees

Coppin pleas cuz this ain't your area

Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up?

Get ya lil Junior Whopper click smoked up, what the fuck

is you STUPID?!?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn

with my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block

with 15 shots cock glock to your knot

Outlaw mafia click movin up another notch

And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped

All your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and locked

Verse Four:

Youse a, beat biter, a Pac style taker

I'll tell you to ya face you aint shit but a faker

Softer than Alize with a chaser

Bout to get murdered for the paper

Idi Amin approach the scene

Write a caper, like a loc, with little ceaser in a choke hold

Totin smoke, we aint no muthafuckin joke

Thug Life, niggaz betta be knowin, we approchin

in the wide open, guns smokin

no need for hopin its a battle lost, I got across

Soon as the funk was poppin off

Nigga I hit em up

Outro: Tupac

Now you tell me who won

I see them, they run

They don't wanna see us

Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. click dressin up tryin ta be us

How the fuck they gonna 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 fuck with us?

You little young ass motherfuckers

Don't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin?

You fuckin with me nigga you fuck around

and have a seizure or a heart-attack

You better back the fuck up, fore you get smacked the fuck up

That's how we do it on our side

Any of you niggaz from New York that wanna bring it bring it

But we ain't singin, we bringin drama

Fuck you and your motherfuckin mama

We gonna kill all you motherfuckers

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

Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherfuckin opinion

Well this how we gonna do this

Fuck Mobb Deep

Fuck Biggie

Fuck Bad Boy as a staff record label

and as a motherfuckin crew

And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy

Then fuck you too

Chino XL, fuck you too

All you motherfuckers, fuck you too

(take money)

(take money)

Alla y'all motherfuckers, fuck you die slow motherfucker

My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow

You motherfuckers can't be us or see us

We the motherfuckin Thug Life ridahs West side till we die!

Out here in California we warn ya we'll bomb on you motherfuckers

We do our job

You think you mob, nigga we the motherfuckin mob

Ain't nuttin but killers and the real niggaz

All you motherfuckers feel us

Our shit's going triple and four-quadruple

(take money)

You niggaz blast as our staff got guns at they

motherfuckers back, you know how it is

When we drop records they feel it

You niggaz can't feel it

We the realest, FUCK EM, we Bad Boy killin *echoes*