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Hit Em Up (Letra)

Curso de Violão - Fórmula Violão

I got nu-thin to lose (ungh!)
Pass me a ski mask, a glock, and my tennis shoes
I got nu-thin to lose
Pass me a ski mask a glock, and my tennis shoes (ungh!)

Chorus: mercedez

You need to get, your life together
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
South money and hustlin, don’t last forever
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
Some say that g’s make the world go round
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
You say you got nothin to lose, but who got a back when ya down?
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)

[master p]
Man, i’m bout it, bout to get rowdy
I ain’t even trippin if y’all fools doubt me
Penetentiary chances, i done danced with it
Died and went hell, came back, down to do whatever
Hit em up (hit em up) stick em up, pick em up
I hope ya got insurance on ya brand new truck
Mama need food in the icebox
And i need some new jordan with some white sock
Bout to rob peter, to pay paul
The ghetto got me crazy, but i won’t fall
On my way to arizona, got it sewed up
Down south with the task all on it *sirens*
Bout to put five in the stash box
Called the c-murder up for them plastic glocks
Beeper ringin, silkk forgot the neck on some chicken
Cristal, parlay with beck, gettin riches
No longer, livin in condos
It’s mansions and fifty inch windows
Marble floors, tailor made suits
Lex luthor, ferraris, windows be bulletproof
Me work a nine to five, fool i like the good life
Seen mama so much, she slapped my face cause i ain’t livin right
Me give it up, i get rowdy
Grabbed the gat, hit the street and the highway, i’m bout it, bout it

Chorus

[silkk the shocker]
I gots, nuthin to lose, i’m on the run like the fugitive
My spot kinda hot, so i can’t go where i used to live
Me and p ridin dirty, in the yukon
Bout to get caught in due time, different place every state a new crime
Grab a ski mask and two nines, say money make the world go round
From out between the knocks i lets em in
Can’t lose, gotta win, false move, end up in the pen
How many i kill goin for the cash
Dude, i gotta do it for the stash
Fill the getaway car up with gas, with the smash
Whatever we make, p, we goin in half
A nigga sex money and greed, costs of livin lavish
Hey i’ma get ya for what you got
If you ain’t got it, act like you don’t have it
I grab my gun before i grab my shoes
Everything on the line, so i can’t lose
Man, look, you know silkk, you know i’m bout to act a fool
So i’m a be gon away like a breeze
Run through like, all type of trees
I ain’t gon stop til the cops say freeze, i can’t lose

[master p]
I got nuthin to lose
Pass me a ski mask, a glock, and my tennis shoes

Chorus

[mercedez]
We’re in it deep, and we’re in it to win it
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
In other words, there ain’t no stoppin no limit
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
Master p, mercedez, t-r-u
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
After them, dead presidents, cause we have nuthin to lose
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)

[c-murder]
Little bro (whattup?) check this out (whoa)
I ain’t walk around with that fool (why, what happened to that youngsta?)
Man but will had it comin, ya heard me? (no) he had it comin, bro (no)
You know what i’m sayin, what happenin? (holla at ya people)
I wasn’t even high, though, i wasn’t high (no)
Some kinda way, knowhati’msayin? i’ma get mine (i’m fo sho gon get it)
Gotta pay the bills, bro (huh, bro?)
I gotta get them meals, you know what i’m sayin? fo’ scheeze (whoa, now)
I ain’t got nuthin to lose (huh, bro?)
Got what? everything to gain, you know what i’m sayin?
(oh, gots to have that there)
Bro, ghetto got me crazy (i feed them children)
Dead, i’m on the run (huh, bro?) nut i gotta gun
Man, me and dead joe, down here actin a donkey (huh, bro?)
Actin bad, hit three licks today, third ward style (uh-huh)
Like p say, i gotta get my cornbread (ohh)
Cabbage, and my greens (oh… oh we gots to get that there)
Yeah you know i’m tru to this, i mean really, in other words
I ain’t got nuttin to lose, ya heard me? (say that then)

Compartilhe!

Hit Em Up (Letra)

Master P

Master P

Curso de Violão - Fórmula Violão

I got nu-thin to lose (ungh!)
Pass me a ski mask, a glock, and my tennis shoes
I got nu-thin to lose
Pass me a ski mask a glock, and my tennis shoes (ungh!)

Chorus: mercedez

You need to get, your life together
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
South money and hustlin, don’t last forever
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
Some say that g’s make the world go round
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
You say you got nothin to lose, but who got a back when ya down?
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)

[master p]
Man, i’m bout it, bout to get rowdy
I ain’t even trippin if y’all fools doubt me
Penetentiary chances, i done danced with it
Died and went hell, came back, down to do whatever
Hit em up (hit em up) stick em up, pick em up
I hope ya got insurance on ya brand new truck
Mama need food in the icebox
And i need some new jordan with some white sock
Bout to rob peter, to pay paul
The ghetto got me crazy, but i won’t fall
On my way to arizona, got it sewed up
Down south with the task all on it *sirens*
Bout to put five in the stash box
Called the c-murder up for them plastic glocks
Beeper ringin, silkk forgot the neck on some chicken
Cristal, parlay with beck, gettin riches
No longer, livin in condos
It’s mansions and fifty inch windows
Marble floors, tailor made suits
Lex luthor, ferraris, windows be bulletproof
Me work a nine to five, fool i like the good life
Seen mama so much, she slapped my face cause i ain’t livin right
Me give it up, i get rowdy
Grabbed the gat, hit the street and the highway, i’m bout it, bout it

Chorus

[silkk the shocker]
I gots, nuthin to lose, i’m on the run like the fugitive
My spot kinda hot, so i can’t go where i used to live
Me and p ridin dirty, in the yukon
Bout to get caught in due time, different place every state a new crime
Grab a ski mask and two nines, say money make the world go round
From out between the knocks i lets em in
Can’t lose, gotta win, false move, end up in the pen
How many i kill goin for the cash
Dude, i gotta do it for the stash
Fill the getaway car up with gas, with the smash
Whatever we make, p, we goin in half
A nigga sex money and greed, costs of livin lavish
Hey i’ma get ya for what you got
If you ain’t got it, act like you don’t have it
I grab my gun before i grab my shoes
Everything on the line, so i can’t lose
Man, look, you know silkk, you know i’m bout to act a fool
So i’m a be gon away like a breeze
Run through like, all type of trees
I ain’t gon stop til the cops say freeze, i can’t lose

[master p]
I got nuthin to lose
Pass me a ski mask, a glock, and my tennis shoes

Chorus

[mercedez]
We’re in it deep, and we’re in it to win it
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
In other words, there ain’t no stoppin no limit
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
Master p, mercedez, t-r-u
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)
After them, dead presidents, cause we have nuthin to lose
(hit em up, get em up, stick em up)

[c-murder]
Little bro (whattup?) check this out (whoa)
I ain’t walk around with that fool (why, what happened to that youngsta?)
Man but will had it comin, ya heard me? (no) he had it comin, bro (no)
You know what i’m sayin, what happenin? (holla at ya people)
I wasn’t even high, though, i wasn’t high (no)
Some kinda way, knowhati’msayin? i’ma get mine (i’m fo sho gon get it)
Gotta pay the bills, bro (huh, bro?)
I gotta get them meals, you know what i’m sayin? fo’ scheeze (whoa, now)
I ain’t got nuthin to lose (huh, bro?)
Got what? everything to gain, you know what i’m sayin?
(oh, gots to have that there)
Bro, ghetto got me crazy (i feed them children)
Dead, i’m on the run (huh, bro?) nut i gotta gun
Man, me and dead joe, down here actin a donkey (huh, bro?)
Actin bad, hit three licks today, third ward style (uh-huh)
Like p say, i gotta get my cornbread (ohh)
Cabbage, and my greens (oh… oh we gots to get that there)
Yeah you know i’m tru to this, i mean really, in other words
I ain’t got nuttin to lose, ya heard me? (say that then)

Hit’em Up (Letra)

2Pac

2Pac

Curso de Violão - Fórmula Violão

so i fucked your bitch
You fat mutha-fucka {take money}
West side
Bad boy killers {take money}
You know who the realist is
Niggas we bring it to {take money}
[ha ha, that’s alright]

First off, fuck your bitch
And the click you claim
West side when we ride
Come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa
But, i fucked your wife
We bust on bad boys
Niggas fuck for life
Plus puffy tryin’ to see me weak
Hearts i rip
Biggie smalls and junior mafia
Some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming
While we running for yah jewels
Steady gunning
Keep on busting at them fools
You know the rules
Little ceasar go ask you homie
How i’ll leave yah
Cut your young ass up
See yah in pieces
Now be deceased
Little kim,
Don’t fuck with real ass g’s
Quick to snatch your ugly ass, off the streets
So fuck peace
I’ll let them niggas know
It’s on for life
Don’t let the west side
Ride the night [ha ha]
Bad boys murdered on wax and kill
Fuck with me
And get your caps peeled
You know, see

Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didn’t finish
Now, you ‘bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, i hit ‘em up

Check this out
You mutha-fuckas know what time it is
I don’t know why i’m even on this track
Y’all niggas ain’t even on my level
I’m going to let my little homies
Ride on yah
Bitch made ass bad boys bitches
{ahh yo, yo, hold the fuck up}

Get out the way yo
Get out the way yo
Biggie smalls just got dropped
Little move pass the mac
And let me hit ‘em in his back
Frank white needs to get spanked right
For setting up traps
Little accident murderers
And i ain’t never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack when i’m serving yah
Spank the shank
Your whole style when i gank
Gaurd your rank
Cause i’m a slam your ass in a pang
Puffy weaker than a fuckin’ block
I’m running through nigga
And i’m smoking junior mafia
In front of yah nigga
With the ready power
Tucked in my guess
Under my eddie bower
Your clout petty sour
I push packages ever hour
I hit ‘em up

Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, uhh
Who shot me,
But, your punks didn’t finish
Now, you ‘bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, we hit ‘em up

Peep how we do it
Keep it real
Its penitentary steel
This ain’t no freestyle battle
All you niggas getting killed
With your mouths open
Tryin’ to come up off of me
You and the clouds hoping
Smoking dope
It’s like a shermine
Niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn mutha-fucka you deserve to die
Talking about you getting money
But its funny to me
All you niggas living bummy
While you fucking with me?
I’m a self made millioniare
Thug livin’, out of prison
Pistols in the air {air} [ha ha]
Biggie remember when i use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the bitch to let you sleep on the house
Now its 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 a-k
I’m still the thug that you love to hate
Mutha-fucka i’ll hit ‘em up

I’m from n e w jers.
Where plenty of murders occurs
No points to come
We bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio
Little ceas’
I’ll bring you fake g’s to yah knees
Copin’ pleas with these [???]
Little kim is yah
Coked up or doped up
Get your little junior whopper click smoked up
What the fuck?
Is you stupid?
I take money,
Crash and mash through brooklyn
With my click looting, shooting, and polluting your block
With fifteen shot,
Cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click moving up another knotch
And your [?"pop stars" pops?] and get dropped and mopped
And all your fake ass east coast props
Brainstormed and locked

You’s a b-writer
Pac style taker
I’ll tell you to face, you ain’t nothing shit but a faker
Soften the alize with a chaser
Bout to get murdered for the paper
Idi amin approach the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little ceas’ in a choke [uhh]
Toting smoke, we ain’t no mutha-fuckin’ joke
Thug life, niggas better be known
Be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping
It’s a battle lost
I gottem crossed as soon as the funk is boping off
Nigga, i hit ‘em up

Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run [ha ha]
They don’t wanna see us
Whole junior mafia click
Dressing up to be us
How the fuck they gonna be the mob?
When we always on out job
We millionaire’s
Killing ain’t fair
But somebody got to do it

Oh yah mobb deep [uhh]
You wanna fuck with us
You little young ass mutha-fuckas
Don’t one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something
You fucking with me, nigga ?
You fuck around and catch a siezure or a heart-attack
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 niggas from new york that want to bring it,
Bring it.
But we ain’t singing,
We bringing drama
Fuck you and your mother fucking mama.
We gonna kill all you mother fuckers.
Now when i came out, i told you it was just about biggie.
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fuckin 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 mother fuckin crew.
And if you want to be down with bad boy,
Then fuck you too.
Chino xl, fuck you too.
All you mother fuckers,
Fuck you too.
(take money, take money)
All of y’all mother fuckers,
Fuck you, die slow mother fucker.
My fo’ fo’ (.44 magnum) make sure all yo’ kids don’t grow.
You mother fuckers can’t be us or see us.
We mother fuckin’ thug life riders.
West side till’ we die.
Out here in california, nigga
We warned ya’
We’ll bomb on you mother fuckers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nigga, we the mother fuckin’ mob
Ain’t nuttin’ but killers
And the real niggas, all you mother fuckers feel us.
Our shit goes tripple and four quadruple
You niggas laugh cuz our staff got guns under they mother fuckin’ belts
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
You niggas can’t feel it
We the realist
Fuck ‘em.
We bad boy killas.

Hit ‘Em Up (Letra)

Tupac

Tupac

Curso de Violão - Fórmula Violão

Intro: Tupac

I ain’t got no motherfuckin friends
That’s why I fucked yo’ bitch, you fat motherfucker
(take money) West side!!
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
West side 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 hahahah
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:

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 get 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 living bummy, while you fuckin’ wit 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:

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 cuz this ain’t your area
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 Four:

Youse a, beat biter, a Pac s