Luyện nghe bài hát Hit Em Up Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

Grab your when you see 2Pac
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

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

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

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

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

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

It's like a Shermine, niggas they learned to fly
But they muthafucka you deserve to die
Talking about you getting money, but funny to me
All you niggas living bummy, while you with me

I'm a self made millionaire thug, 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, all about Versace, you copied my style
shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled
Now, I'm to set the record straight with my AK
I'm still the thug 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 to all you herds
Now go the scenerio, Little Ceas'
bring you fake G's to yah knees copin' pleas with these

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

With fifteen shot, glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia moving up another notch
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and
And all your fake ass East props, brainstormed and locked

You'se a B writer, Pac style
I'll tell you to face, you ain't shit but a faker
So fill the with a chaser
to get murdered for the paper
E D I, I mean the scene of the caper
Like a loc, little Ceas' in a choke
Toting smoke, we ain't no muthafuckin'

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

Who shot me, but punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a
Nigga, I hit 'em up