Arguably the most memorable diss track of the East Coast–West Coast rivalry, 2Pac and The Outlawz hit up Biggie Smalls, P. Diddy, and Mobb Deep, with direct threats of violence. 2Pac’s feud with Biggie and… Read More [Intro: 2Pac] (Sucker-ass) I ain't got no motherfuckin' friends That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker (Take money) Westside, Bad Boy killers (Take money, you know) You know who the realest is, niggas (Take money) We bring it too (That's aight, haha) (Take money) Haha [Verse 1: 2Pac] First off, fuck your 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, niggas fucked 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 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 niggas know it's on for life Don't let the Westside ride tonight (Haha) Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed Fuck with me and get yo' caps peeled, you know, see [Chorus: 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 (Uh-huh, yeah) Nigga, I hit 'em up [Interlude: 2Pac & Hussein Fatal] Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is (Take money) I don't even know why I'm on this track (Take money) Y'all niggas ain't even on my level, I'ma let my lil' homies ride (Take money) On you bitch-made-ass Bad Boy bitches, feel it (Ayo, ayo, hold the fuck up, yeah; take money) [Verse 2: Hussein Fatal] Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo Biggie Smalls just got dropped Little Mu', pass the MAC and let me hit 'em 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 Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block I'm runnin' through, nigga And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, nigga With the ready power tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer Your clout petty, sour, I push packages every hour, hit 'em up [Chorus: 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 Nigga, we hit 'em up [Verse 3: 2Pac] Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel This ain't no freestyle battle All you niggas 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, niggas think they learned to fly But they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to die Talkin' 'bout you gettin' money, but it's funny to me All you niggas livin' bummy while you fuckin' 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 begged a bitch to let you sleep in the house? Uh Now it's all about Versace, 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 that you love to hate Motherfucker, I hit 'em up [Verse 4: Kadafi & E.D.I. Mean] I'm from N-E-W Jers' where plenty 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 clique smoked up What the fuck, is you stupid? I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn With my clique lootin', shootin' and pollutin' your block With 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot Outlaw MAFIA clique, movin' up another notch And your pop stars popped, get mopped and dropped All your fake-ass East Coast props brainstormed and locked (Haha) [Verse 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 'Bout to get murdered for the paper E.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the caper Like a loc, with Lil' Caesar in a choke Gun totin' smoke, we ain't no motherfuckin' joke Thug Life, niggas 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 Nigga, I hit 'em up [Outro: 2Pac] Now you tell me who won I see them, they run, hahaha 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 fuck they gon' be the mob when we always on our job? (Take money) We millionaires Killin' ain't fair, but somebody gotta do it (Take money) Oh yeah, Mobb Deep, huh, you wanna fuck with us? (Take money) You lil' young-ass motherfuckers (Take money) Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or somethin'? (Take money) You're fuckin' with me, nigga, you fuck around and have a seizure or a heart attack (Take money) You better back the fuck up 'fore you get smacked the fuck up This how we do it on our side Any of you niggas from New York that wanna bring it, bring it But we ain't singin', we bringin' drama Fuck you and yo' motherfuckin' mama We gon' kill all you motherfuckers Now, when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie Then everybody had to open they mouth with a motherfuckin' 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 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) All of y'all motherfuckers, 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, nigga, we warned ya we'll bomb on you motherfuckers We do our job You think you mob? Nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob Ain't nothin' but killers and the real niggas, all you motherfuckers feel us Our shits go triple and four-quadruple (Take money) You niggas laugh 'cause our staff got guns in they motherfuckers belts You know how it is, when we drop records, they felt You niggas can't feel it, we the realest Fuck 'em, we Bad Boy killers