lirik lagu hit em up – yvng mickey
[intro: yvng mickey ]
(sucka*ass)
i ain’t got no mothaf*ckin’ friends
that’s why i f*cked yo’ b*tch, you fat mothaf*cka!
(take money) west side, bad boy k!llas
(take money) (you know) you know who the realest is
(take money) n*ggas, we bring it too
that’s a’ight, haha
(take money) haha
[verse 1: yvng mickey]
first off, f*ck yo’ b*tch and the clique you claim
westside when we ride, come equipped with game
you claim to be a player, but i f*cked your wife
we bust on bad boys, n*ggas f*cked for life
plus, drac tryna see me, weak hearts i rip
gangsta goofy and junior m.a.f.i.a., some mark*ass b*tches
we keep on comin’ while we runnin’ for your jеwels
steady gunnin’, keep on bustin’ at them fools, you know thе rules
count drac , go ask your homie how i’ll leave ya
cut your young*ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
lil’ daisy, don’t f*ck around with real g’s
quick to sn*tch yo’ ugly ass off the streets, so f*ck peace!
i’ll let them n*ggas know it’s on for life
don’t let the westside ride tonight (hahaha)
bad boy murdered on wax and k!lled
f*ck with me and get yo’ caps peeled, you know
[chorus: yvng mickey ]
see, grab your glocks when you see mickey
call the cops when you see mickey, uh
who shot me? but you punks didn’t finish
now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
n*gga, i hit ’em up! (yeah)
[interlude: yvng mickey]
check this out (take money)
you motherf*ckers know what time it is
i don’t even know why i’m on this track (take money)
y’all n*ggas ain’t even on my level
i’ma let my lil’ homies ride on you b*tch*made ass (take money)
bad ay ay ayo hold the f*ck up
boy b*tches, feel it! (take money)
[verse 2: bigmo]
get out the way yo, get out the way yo
gangsta goofy just got dropped
bigbird’, pass the mac and let me hit him in his back
frank white needs 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 your rank ’cause i’ma slam your ass in the paint
drac weaker than the f*ckin’ block i’m runnin’ through, n*gga
and i’m smokin’ junior m.a.f.i.a. in front of you, n*gga
with the ready power tucked in my guess under my eddie bauer
your clout petty/sour, i push packages every hour; i hit ’em up!
[chorus: yvng mickey]
grab your glocks when you see yvng mickey
call the cops when you see yvng mickey, uh
who shot me? but you punks didn’t finish
now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
n*gga, we hit ’em up!
[verse 3: yvng mickey]
peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel
this ain’t no freestyle battle
all you n*ggas gettin’ k!lled with your mouths open
tryna come up off of me, you in the clouds hopin’
smokin’ dope, it’s like a sherm high
n*ggas think they learned to fly
but they burn, mothaf*cka, you deserve to die
talkin’ about you gettin’ money, but it’s funny to me
all you n*ggas livin’ bummy while you f*ckin’ with me
i’m a self*made millionaire
thug livin’, out of prison, pistols in the air (haha)
biggie, remember when i used to let you sleep on the couch
and beg a b*tch 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
mothaf*cka, i hit ’em up!
[verse 4: big bird]
i’m from that sesame ‘ where plenty of murders occurs
no points or commas, we bring the drama to all you herbs
now go check the scenario: little cease
i’ll bring you fake g’s to your knees, coppin’ pleas in de janeiro
little kim, is you coked up or doped up?
get your little junior whopper cl!ck smoked up
what the f*ck, is you stupid?
i take money, crash and mash through brooklyn
with my cl!ck lootin’, shootin’ and pollutin’ your block
with a 15*shot c*cked glock to your knot
outlaw mafia clique movin’ up another notch
and your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
all your fake*ass east coast props brainstormed and locked
[verse 5: yvng donald]
you’s a beat biter, a yvng mickey style taker
i’ll tell you to your face, you ain’t sh*t but a faker
softer than alizé with a chaser
’bout 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 motherf*ckin’ joke
thug life, n*ggas 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*gga, i hit ’em up!
[outro: yvng mickey]
now you tell me who won
i see them, they run, hahahaha
they don’t wanna see us (take money)
whole junior m.a.f.i.a. clique dressin’ up tryna be us (take money)
how the f*ck they gonna be the mob
when we always on our job? (take money)
we millionaires
k!llin’ ain’t fair, but somebody gotta do it (take money)
oh yeah, count drac, huh, you wanna f*ck with us? (take money)
you little young*ass mothaf*ckas (take money)
don’t one of you n*ggas got sickle*cell or somethin’? (take money)
you’re f*ckin’ with me, n*gga
you f*ck around and have a seizure or a heart attack (take money)
you better back the f*ck up
before you get smacked the f*ck up
this is how we do it on our side
any of you n*ggas from new york that wanna bring it, bring it!
but we ain’t singin’, we bringin’ drama
f*ck you and yo’ motherf*ckin’ mama!
we gon’ k!ll all you motherf*ckers!
now, when i came out, i told you it was just about goofy
then everybody had to open their mouth with a motherf*ckin’ opinion
well, this is how we gonna do this: f*ck count drac! f*ck goofy !
f*ck bad boy as a staff, record label, and as a motherf*ckin’ crew!
and if you wanna be down with bad boy, then f*ck you too!
mario, f*ck you too!
all you motherf*ckers, f*ck you too!
(take money, take money)
all of y’all motherf*ckers, f*ck you, die slow!
motherf*cker, my .44 make sho’ all y’all kids don’t grow!
you motherf*ckers can’t be us or see us
we motherf*ckin’ thug life ridas
westside ’til we die!
out here in the traphouse, n*gga, we warned ya
we’ll bomb on you motherf*ckers! we do our job!
you think you mob? n*gga, we the motherf*ckin’ mob!
ain’t nothin’ but k!llas
and the real n*ggas, all you motherf*ckers feel us
our sh*t goes triple and 4*quadruple (take money)
you n*ggas laugh ’cause our staff got guns under they motherf*ckas belts
you know how it is: when we drop records, they felt
you n*ggas can’t feel it, we the realest
f*ck ’em, we goofy k!llas!
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