Hit 'Em Up Chords by 2Pac

[Intro]
N.C.                                
I ain't got no motherfuckin' friends
                                  Am              
That's why I fucked yo' bitch you fat motherfucker


[Verse]
D                        
West side Bad Boy killers
             E7                                      
You know who the realest is niggas we bring it to you
Em           Am
That's aight ■ 
      Am                                          
First off fuck your bitch and the clique you claim
D                                            
Westside when we ride come equipped with game
    E7            Em           Am              
You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife
   Am                                    
We bust on Bad Boy niggas fucked for life
Am                                           
Plus Puffy tryin' to see me weak hearts I rip
Dm                                                 
Biggie Smalls and Junior MAFIA some markass bitches
E7         Em              C                     
We keep on comin' while we runnin' for yo' jewels
Am                                                             
Steady gunnin' keep on bustin' at them fools you know the rules
     Am                                   
Lil' Ceaser go ask ya homie how I leave ya
         Dm                                              
Cut your young ass up leave you in pieces now be deceased
Em                                      
Lil' Kim don't fuck around with real G's
         Am                                               
Quick to snatch yo' ugly ass off the streets so fuck peace


[Chorus]
      Am                               
I let them niggas know it's on for life
          D                 Dm     
Don't let the Westside ride tonight
E7                                
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
     Am                                          
Fuck wit' me and get yo' caps peeled you know see
     Am                          
Grab ya Glocks when you see Tupac
D                                E7
Call the cops when you see Tupac uh
Em              C                     
Who shot me But ya punks didn't finish
       Am                                 
Now ya 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
                Am
Nigga I hit em' up


[Verse]
      Am                                             
Check this out you motherfuckers know what time it is
  D                                    
I don't even know why I'm on this track
                           Em      
Y'all niggas ain't even on my level
     Em                              
I'ma let my little homies ride on you
      Am                             
Bitch madeass Bad Boy bitches feel it
        Am                           
Get out the way yo get out the way yo
Dm                            
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
           Em                                         
Little Mu' pass the MAC and let me hit him in his back
Am                                                     
Frank White need to get spanked right for settin' traps
Am                                                     
Little accident murderers and I ain't never heard of ya
Dm                                       
Poisonous gats attack when I'm servin' ya
E7                      Em               
Spank ya shank ya whole style when I gank
Am                                                    
Guard your rank 'cause I'ma slam your ass in the paint
Am                                                           
Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block I'm runnin' through nigga
        Dm                                        
And I'm smokin' Junior MAFIA in front of you nigga
         E7                                               
With the ready power tuckin' my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
   Am                                                    
Ya clout petty sour I push packages every hour hit 'em up
     Am                          
Grab ya Glocks when you see Tupac
D                                Em
Call the cops when you see Tupac uh
                   C                  
Who shot me But ya punks didn't finish
       Am                                 
Now ya 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
                 Am
Nigga we hit em' up
                                               Dm   
Peep how we do it keep it real as penitentiary steel
           Dm                 
This ain't no freestyle battle
               E7                                
All you niggas gettin' killed with ya mouths open
                   Am                         
Tryna come up offa me you in the clouds hopin'
                         Am                                         
Smokin' dope it's like a sherm high niggas think they learned to fly
         Dm                                  
But they burn motherfucker you deserve to die
E7                                                  
Talkin' 'bout you gettin' money but it's funny to me
        Am                                         
All you niggas livin' bummy why you fuckin' with me
      Am                  
I'm a selfmade millionaire
                  Dm                       
Thug livin' outta prison pistols in the air
E7                                                       
Biggie remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
          Am                                 
And beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house
    Am                                        
Now it's all about Versace you copied my style
Dm                                              
Five shots couldn't drop me I took it and smiled
        Em                              
Now I'm 'bout to set the record straight
                         Am        A7              
With my AK I'm still the thug that you love to hate
Am                       
Motherfucker I hit 'em up
         Am       
I'm from NEW Jers'
Am                         
Where plenty murders occurs
D                                                  
No points or commas we bring drama to all you herbs
Em                       
Now go check the scenario
                            Am                    
Little Ceas' I'll bring you fake G's to your knees
Am                         
Coppin' pleas in de Janeiro
Am                                    
Little Kim is you coked up or doped up
         D                                     
Get your little Junior Whopper clique smoked up
                 Em        
What the fuck is you stupid
                                    Am      
I take money crash and mash through Brooklyn
                                                   Am   
With my clique lootin' shootin' and pollutin' your block
       Am                                   
With a fifteenshot cocked Glock to your knot
D                                          
Outlaw MAFIA clique movin' up another notch
    Em                                              
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
             Am                       
And all your fake ass East Coast props
Am                     
Brainstormed and locked
      Am          
You's a beat biter
  Am             
A Pac style taker
     Dm                                              
I'll tell you to your face you ain't shit but a faker
E7          Em                 
Softer than Alizé with a chaser
             Am                    
About to get murdered for the paper
                                   Am   
Edi Mean approach the scene of the caper
                                  Dm   
Like a loc with Little Ceas' in a choke
                                           Em  
Gun totin' smoke we ain't no motherfuckin' joke
                 Am             
Thug Life niggas better be known
   Am                                      
We approachin' in the wide open gun smokin'
            Am                       
No need for hopin' it's a battle lost
                     Dm                             
I got 'em crossed as soon as the funk is boppin' off
                E7 Em
Nigga I hit 'em up ■ 
                    Em 
Now you tell me who won
Am                 
I see them they run
           Am          
They don't wanna see us
             Dm          
Whole Junior MAFIA clique
Dm                         
Dressing up trying to be us
                  E7                                       
How the fuck they gon' be the mob when we always on our job
   E7          
We millionaires
Am                                         
Killin' ain't fair but somebody gotta do it
   Am                                   
Oh yeah Mobb Deep you wanna fuck with us
D                                
You little youngass motherfuckers
                            Em                      
Don't one of you niggas got sickle cell or something
Em                 
You fucking with me
                      Am                                  
Nigga you fuck around and have a seizure or a heart attack
                            Am                               
You better back the fuck up 'fore you get smacked the fuck up
                     D          
This is how we do it on our side
Dm                                               E7         
Any of you niggas from New York that wanna bring it bring it
    E7                                
But we ain't singin' we bringin' drama
Am                                  
Fuck you and your motherfuckin' mama
             Am                   
We gon' kill all you motherfuckers
                                      D                
Now when I came out I told you it was just about Biggie
                                              E7                   
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherfuckin' opinion
     E7                         
Well this is how we gon' do this
Am                        
Fuck Mobb Deep fuck Biggie
                                            Dm                  
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff record label and as a motherfuckin' crew
                                    E7                  
And if you want to be down with Bad Bo then fuck you too
      A7             
Chino XL fuck you too
        Am                         D
All you motherfuckers fuck you too ■
Am           Em                                          
All of y'all motherfuckers fuck you die slow motherfucker
                   Am                                      
My zero point four four make sure all y'all kids don't grow
    Am                                 
You motherfuckers can't be us or see us
   Dm                                                 
We motherfuckin' Thug Life riders Westside 'til we die
E7       Em C                            
Out here in California nigga we warned ya
Am                                           
We'll bomb on you motherfuckers we do our job
Am                                              
You think you mob Nigga we the motherfuckin' mob
D                                 D7         
Ain't nothin' but killers and the real niggas
        E7                   
All you motherfuckers feel us
                        Am           
Our shits go triple and fourquadruple
    Am                               
You niggas laugh 'cause our staff got
D                               
Guns in they motherfuckers belts
Dm                         E7                    
You know how it is when we drop records they felt
Em                       Am            
You niggas can't feel it we the realest
         Am                
Fuck 'em we Bad Boy killers


[End]