2Pac – Hit 'Em Up (feat. Outlawz) [Live] Lyrics

Hit 'Em Up [Live]

2Pac (feat. Outlawz)

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"Hit 'Em Up [Live]." - 2Pac (feat. Outlawz)

Wednesday, 21 October 2026, 07:10 pm

Album: Tupac: Live At the House of Blues

Track No: 04

First off, fuck yo bitch and the clique you claim
Westside when we ride come equipped wit' game
You claim to be a playa, but I fucked yo wife
We bust on Bad Boys, **** fuck 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 ya jewels
Steady gunnin' while we bustin' at them fools
You know the rules
Lil' Caesar go ask ya homie how I'll leave ya
Cut ya young ass up, see you in pieces
Now be deceased
Lil' Kim don't fuck around wit' real Gs
Quick to snatch yo ugly ass off the streets
So fuck peace
I'll let them **** know it's on for life
So let the Westside ride tonight
Bad boy burnin on wax and killed
Fuck wit' me and get yo caps peeled, you know
Grab ya Glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but you punks didn't finish
Now you bout to feel the wrath of a menace
****, I hit em up
Get out the way, yo
Get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got shot
Little Moo pass the Mac
And let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White need 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 ya rank, 'cause I'ma slam yo ass in da paint
Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block, I'm runnin' you, ****
And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, ****
Wit' the ready-power tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
Your clout petty-sour
I push packages every hour, hit 'em up
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but you punks didn't finish
Now you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
****, I hit em up
Peep how we do it
Keep it real as penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle
All you **** gettin' killed
With ya mouths open
Tryna come up off of me you in the clouds hopin'
Smokin' dope it's like a Sherm high
**** think they learned to fly
But they burn mothafucka you deserve to die
Talkin' 'bout you gettin' money, but it's funny to me
All you **** livin' bummy why you fuckin' wit me
I'm a self-made millionaire
Thug livin' outta prison, pistols in the air
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
And begged the bitch to let you sleep in the house
Uh huh, now it's all about Versace
You copy my style
Five shots couldn't drop me
I took it and smiled
Now I'm bout to set the record straight
Wit' my AK, I'm still da thug that you love to hate
Mothfucka I hit em up
I'm from N-E-W Jers'
Where plenty murders occurs
No point to come 'cause we bring the drama to all you herbs
Now check the scenario
Little Cease
I'll bring you fake G's to they knees
Coppin' pleas in de Janeirio
Big Mama is you doped up or coked up
Get ya little Junior Whopper clique smoked up
What the fuck, is you stupid?
I take money, crash and mash
Through Brooklyn
Wit' my clique lootin', shootin' and pollutin' ya block
Wit fifteen shot, cocked Glock to ya knot
Outlaw mafia clique movin' up another notch
And you box-top spots get mopped and dropped
All you fake ass East coast props brainstormed and locked
You's a, beat biter
A pop-style taker
I'll tell you to your face
You ain't nothin' but a faker
Softer than Alize wit a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
E.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the paper
Like a loc
Wit Little Caesar in a choke
Tell him smoke
We ain't no mothafuckin joke
Thug Life **** better be known
We approachin'
In the wide open, gun smokin'
No need for hoping, it's a battle lost
I got a cross, soon as the funk was poppin' off

Writer(s): 2Pac, Duane S. Hitchings, Franne Golde, Dennis Lambert, Johnny Jackson, Yafeu Fula, Malcolm Greenidge & Bruce Washington.

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