[Intro: 2Pac]
I ain't got no motherfuckin’ friends
That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker!
(Take money) West Side, Bad Boy killas
(Take money) You know who the realest is
(Take money) We bring it too
(Take money)

[Strofa 1: 2Pac]
First off, fuck yo’ 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, n***as fucked for life
Plus, Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. is 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 n***as know it's on for life
Don't let the Westside ride tonight (ha ha ha)
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
Fuck with me and get yo' caps peeled, you know
[Ritornello: 2Pac]
See, 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
N***a, I hit 'em up!

[Interludio: 2Pac]
Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is
I don't even know why I'm on this track
Y'all n***as ain't even on my level
I'ma let my little homies ride
On you bitch-made ass Bad Boy bitches, feel it!
[Strofa 2: Frankie Snake]
Torno dopo tempo
Non sono mai stato fermo
Da lontano vi ho osservato
E mi sono schifato
Sai, per chiuderne una
Non ci vuole tanto
Parli di me e della Luna
Con quel cervello da gatto
Non parlo di te
Perché ti darei importanza
Ma tu parli di me
E ci vuoi perder la faccia
La violenza non fa per me
Io risolvo a parole
Oppure faccio un pezzo come que-
Sto e perdi le parole
Giuste per insultarmi
Ti rido in faccia
Io c'ho il porto d'armi
Sogni sta vitaccia
History è l'album che mi lancerà
Vado contro ogni difficoltà
[Ritornello: 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
N***a, we hit 'em up!
[Strofa 3: 2Pac]
Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle
All you n***as 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
N***as think they learned to fly
But they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to die
Talkin' about you gettin' money, but it's funny to me
All you n***as livin' bummy while you fuckin' with me
I'm a self-made millionaire
Thug livin', out of prison, pistols in the air (ha ha)
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
And beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house?
Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style
Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled
Now I'm back to set the record straight
With my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hate
Motherfucker, I hit 'em up!
[Strofa 4: Frankie Snake]
Ti spacco con schiaffi metrici
Suicidio tipo tredici
Vuoi calmarti, fra, usa gli anestetici
Con me non ci parli
Hai paura della mia reazione
Ma da come stai con gli altri
Sembra che fai il gradassone
Quando ci incontriamo
Piangi e mi asciughi
Io non ci vado piano
Buchi come in call of duty
Dici che non sono bravo nel rap
Ma guarda come spacco sul beat con 2pac
Tu ti sogni anche di chiudere una rima
Come sognava di lasciarti la tua tipa
Parli e dici che hai fatto cose inesistenti
Questo è l'atteggiamento tipico dei perdenti
[Strofa 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
About to get murdered for the paper
E.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with Little Ceas' in a choke
Gun totin' smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin' joke
Thug Life, n***as 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
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 (take money)
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. Clique
Dressing up trying to be us (take money)
How the fuck they gonna be the mob when we always on our job? (Take money)
We millionaires
Killing ain't fair but somebody got to do it (take money)
Oh yeah, Mobb Deep (take money) you wanna fuck with us
You little young-ass motherfuckers (take money)
Don't one of you n***as got sickle-cell or something (take money)
You're fucking with me, n***a you fuck around and catch a seizure or a heart attack (take money)
You better back the fuck up before you get smacked the fuck 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
Fuck you and your motherfucking mama
We're gonna kill all you motherfuckers
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherfucking opinion
Well this is how we gonna do this
Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie
Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfucking crew
And if you want to 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 mother fuckers, 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, n***a, we warned ya
We'll bomb on you motherfuckers. We do our job
You think you mob? N***a, we the motherfuckin' mob
Ain't nothing but killers and the real n***as
All you motherfuckers feel us
Our shit goes triple and 4-quadruple
(Take money)
You n***as laugh 'cause our staff got
Guns under they motherfuckin' belts
You know how it is, when we drop records they felt
You n***as can't feel it, we the realest
Fuck 'em, we Bad Boy-killers