Scenes From .....

Intro: Tupac 
I ain't got no motherfuckin friends 
That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker 
(take money) WEESSSSSSIIIIIDE!! 
Bad Boy killers 
(take money) You know the realest is niggaz 
(take money) We bring it to you 
(take money) 

Verse One: Tupac 
First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim 
WEESSSSSSIIIIIDE when we ride come equipped with game 
You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife 
We bust on Bad Boy niggaz fucked for life 
Plus Puffy tryin ta see me weak hearts I rip 
Biggie Smallz and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark ass bitches 
We keep on comin' while we runnin for ya jewels 
steady gunnin, keep on bustin at the fools, you know the rules 
Little Ceaser, go ask ya homie how I 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 tha street, so fuck peace
I let them niggas know it's on for life 
So let the West side ride tonight (haha)
Bad Boy murdered on wax, and killed 
Fuck wit' me and get ya caps peeled, you know, see...

Chorus: 
Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac 
Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uhh 
Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish 
Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace 
nigga, I hit em' up... 

Interlude: Tupac 
Check this out, you muthafuckas know what time it is 
I don't even know why I'm on this track 
ya'll nigguz ain't even on my level 
I'ma let my little homies ride on you 
bitch made-ass bad boy bitches, deal with it!! 

Verse Two: Fatal
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo 
Biggie Smallz just got dropped 
Little Moo, pass the Mac, and let me hit him in his back 
Frank White need to get spanked right, for settin tracks 
little accident murderer, and I ain't never heard-a ya 
Poisinous gats attack when I'm servin ya 
Spank the shank ya whole style when I dank 
Guard your rank, cause I'ma slam you in the pavement 
Puffy weaker that a fuckin rocka wanna do, nigga 
and, I'll smoke ya junior mafia in front of you, nigga 
With the ready power tuckin my Guess under my Eddie Bauer 
ya clout, pretty sour I push packages every hour 
and hit em up 

Chorus 

Verse Three: Tupac 
Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel 
this aint no freestyle battle, all you niggaz gettin 
killed with ya mouths open 
tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hoping 
smokin dope it's like a sherm high 
Niggaz think they learned to fly 
But they burned muthafucka, you deserve to die 
Talkin bout you gettin money but its funny to me 
all you niggaz livin bummy why you're fuckin with me 
I'm a self made milionare 
Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, hahaha 
Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on my couch 
and beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house, ahh 
Now its all about Versacci, 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 you love to hate 
Motherfucker, I hit em up 

Verse Four: Kadafi
I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur 
No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you herbs 
Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease 
I bring you fake G's to your knees 
Coppin pleas to 'De Janeiro'
Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up? 
Get ya lil Junior Whopper click smoked up, what the fuck 
is you STUPID?!?! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn 
with my click lootin, shootin and pollutin ya block 
with 15 shots cock glock to your knot 
Outlaw mafia click movin up another notch 
And you bast stops squaws get mopped and dropped 
All your fake-ass east coast props brainstormed and locked 

Verse Five: Edi
Youse a, beat biter, a Pac style taker 
I'll tell you to ya face you aint shit but a faker 
Softer than Alize with a chaser 
Bout to get murdered for the paper 
Idi Amin approach the scene 
Write a caper, like a loc, with little ceaser in a choke hold 
Totin smoke, we aint no muthafuckin joke 
Thug Life, niggaz betta be knowin, we approchin 
in the wide open, guns smokin 
no need for hopin its a battle lost, I got across 
Soon as the funk was poppin off 
Nigga I hit em up 

Outro: Tupac 
Now you tell me who won 
I see them, they run 
They don't wanna see us 
Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. click dressin up tryin ta be us 
How the fuck they gonna be the mob when we always on our job 
We millionaires, killin ain't fair but somebody gotta do it 
Oh yeah, Mobb Deep, you wanna fuck with us? 
You little young ass motherfuckers 
Don't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin? 
You fuckin with me nigga you fuck around 
and have a seizure or a heart-attack 
You better back the fuck up, fore you get smacked the fuck up 
That's how we do it on our side 
Any of you niggaz from New York that wanna bring it bring it 
But we ain't singin, we bringin drama 
Fuck you and your motherfuckin mama 
We 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 motherfuckin opinion 
Well this how we gonna 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) 
Alla y'all motherfuckers, fuck you die slow motherfucker 
My fo'-fo' make sure all y'all kids don't grow 
You motherfuckers can't be us or see us 
We the motherfuckin Thug Life ridahs WEESSSSSSIIIIIDE till we die! 
Out here in California we warn ya we'll bomb on you motherfuckers 
We do our job 
You think you mob, nigga we the motherfuckin mob 
Ain't nuttin but killers and the real niggaz 
All you motherfuckers feel us 
Our shit's going triple and four-quadruple 
(take money) 
You niggaz laugh coz our staff got guns at they 
motherfuckers belt, you know how it is 
When we drop records they felt 
You niggaz can't feel it 
We the realest, FUCK EM, we Bad Boy killaz!