Luyện nghe bài hát Hit Em Up Part 2

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

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

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

You know the rules, Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll yah
Cut your 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 side ride the night
Bad boys on wax and kill
Fuck with me and get caps peeled
You know you see

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

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

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

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

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

Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary
This no freestyle battle, all you niggas getting killed
With your mouths open, tryin' to up off of me
You and the clouds smoking dope

It's like a Shermine, niggas they learned to fly
But they burn muthafucka you to die
Talking about you getting money, but funny to me
All you niggas bummy, while you fucking 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 to let you sleep in the house

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

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

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

With fifteen shot, cocked to your knot
Outlaw mafia click moving up 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 tell you to face, you nothing shit but a faker
So the alazhay with a chaser
to get murdered for the paper
E D I, I mean post the of the caper
Like a loc, with little in a choke
smoke, we ain't no muthafuckin' joke

Thug life, niggas better be known, be
In the open, gun smoking, no need for hoping
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