Luyện nghe bài hát Hit Em Up Part 2

Well, come on, come on, money
Come on, on, take money
Come on, come on, wassup

First off, fuck bitch and the click you claim
West side when we ride, equipped with game
You claim to be a playa but, I your wife
We bust on bad boys, fuck for life

Plus, tryin' to see me weak, hearts I rip
Biggie smalls and junior mafia, some mark ass
We keep on while we running for yah jewels
Steady gunning on busting at them fools

You know the rules, Little Ceasar go ask you homie how leave yah
Cut young ass up, see yah in pieces, now be deceased
Little Kim, don't fuck real ass G's
Quick to snatch ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace

let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the west side the night
Bad boys murdered on wax and
Fuck with me and get caps peeled
You what you see

your glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops you see 2Pac
Who me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

Get out the way yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls got dropped
move pacs the mac and let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White to get spanked right for setting up traps

Little accident murderers and I ain't never of yah
Poise less gats attack when I'm yah
Spank the shank, whole style when I gank
Guard rank, 'cause, I'ma slam your ass in a pang

Puffy weaker a fuckin' block, I'm running through nigga
And I'm smoking junior mafia in of yah nigga
With the ready tucked in my guess
Under my EddieBower, tour petty sour
I push every hour, I hit 'em up

Call the cops you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle, all you getting killed
With your mouths open, to come up off of me
You and the clouds smoking dope

It's like a Shermine, think they learned to fly
But they burn you deserve to die
Talking about you getting money, but it's to me
All you niggas bummy, while you fucking with me

I'm a made millionaire thug, livin' out of prison, pistols in the air
Biggie, remember when I use to let you on the couch
And beg the bitch to let you in the house

Now, it's all about Versace, you copied my
Five shots couldn't me, I took it and smiled
Now, I'm back to set the record straight my AK
I'm the thug that you love to hate, muthafucka, I'll hit 'em up

I'm from New Jers, plenty of murder occurs
No points to come, we bring drama to all you
Now go check the scenerio, Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees copin' pleas these

Little Kim is yah, up or doped up
Get little Junior Whopper click smoked up
What the Is you stupid? Take money
and mash through Brooklyn
With my click looting, shooting, and your block

With fifteen shot, cocked to your knot
Outlaw mafia click up another notch
And your pop stars and get mopped and dropped
And all your fake ass East Coast props, and locked

You'se a B writer, Pac style
I'll you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
So fill the alazhay a chaser
'Bout to get murdered for the
E D I, I mean post the scene of the
Like a loc, with little in a choke
smoke, we ain't no muthafuckin' joke

Thug life, better be known, be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking, no need for
a battle lost, I got 'em crossed
As as the funk is bopping off, nigga, I hit 'em up

Who shot me, but your punks finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a
Nigga, I hit 'em up