Luyện nghe bài hát Hit Em Up Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little accident murderers and I never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack I'm serving yah
Spank the shank, whole style when I gank
your rank, 'cause, I'ma slam your ass in a pang

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

Call the when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks 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 steel
This ain't no freestyle battle, all you niggas getting
your mouths open, tryin' to come up off of me
You and the clouds hoping dope

It's a Shermine, niggas 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 self made 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 sleep in the

Now, it's all about Versace, you my style
Five shots couldn't drop me, I 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, where of murder occurs
No points to come, we bring to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio, Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah copin' pleas with these

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

With fifteen shot, cocked glock to knot
Outlaw mafia click moving up another
And your pop popped 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 fill the alazhay with a
'Bout to get murdered for the
E D I, I mean post the scene of the
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a
Toting smoke, we ain't no joke

life, niggas better be known, be approaching
In the open, gun smoking, no need 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 your punks didn't
Now, you 'bout to feel the of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up