[Intro: 2Pac]
I ain't got no motherf**ing friends
That's why I f**ed your b**h you fat motherf**er
West Side, Bad Boy k**ers
You know who the realest is
We bring it too
Take money, take money
[Verse 1: 2Pac]
First off, f** your b**h and the clique you claim
Westside when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I f**ed your wife
We bust on Bad Boys, n***as f**ed for life
Plus Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-a** b**hes
We keep on coming while we running for your j**els
Steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools
You know the rules
Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll leave you
Cut your young a** up, leave you in pieces
Now be deceased
Little Kim, don't f** around with real G's
Quick to snatch your ugly a** off the streets
So f** peace
I'll let them n***as know it's on for life
So let the Westside ride the night
Bad Boys murdered on wax and k**ed
f** with me and get your caps peeled
You know
[Hook]
Grab your Glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now you about to feel the wrath of a menace
n***a I hit em up
[Interlude]
Check this out
You motherf**ers know what time it is
I don't know why I'm even on this track
You all n***as ain't even on my level
I'm going to let my little homies
Ride on you b**h-made a** Bad Boys b**hes
[Verse 2: Hussein Fatal]
Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little Moo' pa** the Mac
And let me hit em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right
For setting traps
Little accident-murderer
And I ain't never heard of you
Poisonous Gats attack when I'm serving you
Spank you, shank your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, cause I'm a slam your a** in the paint
Puffy weaker than the f**in' block I'm running through, n***a
And I'm smoking Junior MAFIA in front of you, n***a
With the ready-power tucked in my Guess
Under my Eddie Bauer
Your clout petty/sour
I push packages every hour, I hit em up
[Hook]
[Verse 3: 2Pac]
Peep how we do it
Keep it real as penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle
All you n***as getting k**ed with your mouths open
Trying to come up off of me, you in the clouds hoping
Smoking dope. It's like a Sherm-high
n***as think they learned to fly
But they burn, motherf**er, you deserve to die
Talking about you Getting Money
But it's funny to me
All you n***as living bummy
While you f**ing with me
I'm a self-made millionaire!
Thug livin', out of prison
Pistols in the air
Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the b**h to let you sleep in the house
Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style
5 shots couldn't drop me: I took it and smiled
Now I'm back to set the record straight
With my A-K, I'm still the thug that you love to hate
Motherf**er I'll hit em up
[Kadafi]
I'm from N E W Jers'
Where plenty of murders occurs
No points to come, we bring drama to all you herbs
Now go check the scenario: Little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to your knees
Copping pleas in de Janeiro
Little Kim: is you coked up or doped up?
Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up
What the f**, is you stupid?
I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my click looting, shooting and polluting your block
With a 15-shot co*ked Glock to your knot
Outlaw MAFIA clique moving up another notch
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
And all your fake a** East coast props
Brainstormed and locked
[E.D.I. Mean]
You's a beat biter
A Pac style taker
I'll tell you to your face you ain't sh** but a faker
Softer than Alize with a chaser
About to get murdered for the paper
E.D.I Amin approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with Little Ceas' in a choke
Gun totin' smoke. We ain't no motherf**ing joke
Thug Life, n***as better be known
Be approaching in the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping, it's a battle lost
I got em crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off
n***a, I hit em up!
[Outro: 2Pac]
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run
They don't wanna see us
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique dressing up to be us
How the f** they gonna be the mob when we always on out job?
We millionaires, k**ing ain't fair but somebody got to do it
Oh yeah, Mobb Deep: you wanna f** with us
You little young-a** motherf**ers
Don't one of you n***as got sickle-cell or something
You're f**ing with me, n***a
You f** around and catch a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f** up
Before you get smacked the f** up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you n***as from New York that want to bring it, bring it
But we ain't singing, we bringing drama
f** you and your motherf**ing mama
We're gonna k** all you motherf**ers
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherf**ing opinion
Well this is how we gonna do this
f** Mobb Deep, f** Biggie
f** Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherf**ing crew
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then f** you too
Chino XL: f** you too
All you motherf**ers, f** you too
All of y'all mother f**ers, f** you, die slow, motherf**er
My .44 make sure all your kids don't grow
You motherf**ers can't be us or see us
We motherf**in' Thug Life-riders
Westside til we die
Out here in California, n***a, we warned ya
We'll bomb on you motherf**ers. We do our job
You think you mob? n***a, we the motherf**in' mob
Ain't nothing but k**ers and the real n***as
All you motherf**ers feel us
Our sh** goes triple and 4-quadruple
You n***as laugh cause our staff got guns under they motherf**in' belts
You know how it is, when we drop records they felt
You n***as can't feel it, we the realest
f** em, we Bad Boy-k**ers