[Intro: 2Pac]

(Sucker-ass) I ain't got no motherfuckin' friends

That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker (Take money)

Westside, Bad Boy killers (Take money, you know)

You know who the realest is, niggas (Take money)

We bring it too (That's aight, haha)

(Take money) Haha

[Verse 1: 2Pac]

First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim

Westside, when we ride, come equipped with game

You claim to be a player, but I fucked your wife

We bust on Bad Boys, niggas fucked for life

Plus, Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip

Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A., some mark-ass bitches

We keep on comin' while we runnin' for your jewels

Steady gunnin', keep on bustin' at them fools, you know the rules

Lil' Caesar, go ask your homie how I'll leave ya

Cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased

Lil' Kim, don't fuck around with real G's

Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace

I'll let them niggas know it's on for life

Don't let the Westside ride tonight (Haha)

Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed

Fuck with me and get yo' caps peeled, you know, see

[Chorus: 2Pac]

Grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh

Who shot me? But you punks didn't finish

Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace (Uh-huh, yeah)

Nigga, I hit 'em up

[Interlude: 2Pac & Hussein Fatal]

Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is (Take money)

I don't even know why I'm on this track (Take money)

Y'all niggas ain't even on my level, I'ma let my lil' homies ride (Take money)

On you bitch-made-ass Bad Boy bitches, feel it (Ayo, ayo, hold the fuck up, yeah; take money)

[Verse 2: Hussein Fatal]

Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo

Biggie Smalls just got dropped

Little Mu', pass the MAC and let me hit 'em in his back

Frank White needs to get spanked right for settin' traps

Little accident murderer, and I ain't never heard of ya

Poisonous gats attack when I'm servin' ya

Spank ya, shank ya whole style when I gank

Guard your rank 'cause I'ma slam your ass in the paint

Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block I'm runnin' through, nigga

And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, nigga

With the ready power tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer

Your clout petty, sour, I push packages every hour, hit 'em up

[Chorus: 2Pac]

Grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac

Call the cops when you see 2Pac, uh

Who shot me? But you punks didn't finish

Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace

Nigga, we hit 'em up

[Verse 3: 2Pac]

Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel

This ain't no freestyle battle

All you niggas gettin' killed with your mouths open

Tryna come up off of me, you in the clouds hopin'

Smokin' dope, it's like a sherm high, niggas think they learned to fly

But they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to die

Talkin' 'bout you gettin' money, but it's funny to me

All you niggas livin' bummy while you fuckin' with me

I'm a self-made millionaire

Thug livin', out of prison, pistols in the air, haha

Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch

And begged a bitch to let you sleep in the house? Uh

Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style

Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled

Now I'm 'bout to set the record straight

With my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hate

Motherfucker, I hit 'em up

[Verse 4: Kadafi & E.D.I. Mean]

I'm from N-E-W Jers' where plenty murders occurs

No points or commas, we bring the drama to all you herbs

Now go check the scenario

Little Cease, I'll bring you fake G's to your knees, coppin' pleas in de Janeiro

Little Kim, is you coked up or doped up?

Get your little Junior Whopper clique smoked up

What the fuck, is you stupid?

I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn

With my clique lootin', shootin' and pollutin' your block

With 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot

Outlaw MAFIA clique, movin' up another notch

And your pop stars popped, get mopped and dropped

All your fake-ass East Coast props brainstormed and locked (Haha)

[Verse 5: E.D.I. Mean]

You's a beat biter, a Pac style taker

I'll tell you to your face, you ain't shit but a faker

Softer than Alizé with a chaser

'Bout to get murdered for the paper

E.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the caper

Like a loc, with Lil' Caesar in a choke

Gun totin' smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin' joke

Thug Life, niggas better be knowin'

We approachin' in the wide open, gun smokin'

No need for hopin', it's a battle lost

I got 'em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin' off

Nigga, I hit 'em up

[Outro: 2Pac]

Now you tell me who won

I see them, they run, hahaha

They don't wanna see us (Take money)

Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique dressin' up tryna be us (Take money)

How the fuck they gon' be the mob when we always on our job? (Take money) We millionaires

Killin' ain't fair, but somebody gotta do it (Take money)

Oh yeah, Mobb Deep, huh, you wanna fuck with us? (Take money)

You lil' young-ass motherfuckers (Take money)

Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or somethin'? (Take money)

You're fuckin' with me, nigga, you fuck around and have a seizure or a heart attack (Take money)

You better back the fuck up 'fore you get smacked the fuck up

This how we do it on our side

Any of you niggas from New York that wanna bring it, bring it

But we ain't singin', we bringin' drama

Fuck you and yo' motherfuckin' mama

We gon' kill all you motherfuckers

Now, when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie

Then everybody had to open they mouth with a motherfuckin' opinion

Well, this is how we gon' do this

Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie

Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a motherfuckin' crew

And if you wanna be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too

Chino XL, fuck you too

All you motherfuckers, fuck you too

(Take money, take money)

All of y'all motherfuckers, fuck you, die slow, motherfucker

My .44 make sure all y'all kids don't grow

You motherfuckers can't be us or see us

We motherfuckin' Thug Life riders, Westside, 'til we die

Out here in California, nigga, we warned ya we'll bomb on you motherfuckers

We do our job

You think you mob? Nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob

Ain't nothin' but killers and the real niggas, all you motherfuckers feel us

Our shits go triple and four-quadruple (Take money)

You niggas laugh 'cause our staff got guns in they motherfuckers belts

You know how it is, when we drop records, they felt

You niggas can't feel it, we the realest

Fuck 'em, we Bad Boy killers