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eazy-e - real muthaphuckkin g's/hit 'em up (remix) lyrics

(verse 1): eazy-e
hey yo, doctor, here’s another proper track
and it’s phat, watch the sniper, time to pay the piper
and let that real stuff provoke
see, you’s a wannabe ‘loc, and you’ll get smoked, and i hope
that your fans understand when you talk about sprayin’ me
the same records that you makin’ is payin’ me
dre! snoop! death row!
yo, and here comes my left blow
’cause i’m the e-a-z-y-e and this is the season
to let the real compton city g’s in
you’re like a kid, you found a pup, and now you’re dapper
but tell me, where the h-ll you found an anorexic rapper?
talkin’ ’bout who you gon’ squabble with and who you shoot
you’re only sixty pounds when you’re wet and wearin’ boots
(d-mn, e, they tried to fade you on dre day)
but dre day only meant eazy’s payday
all of a sudden dr. dre is the g thang
but on his old alb-m cover he was a she-thang
so, sucka please, sucka please
don’t step to these real compton city g’s

(verse 2): 2pac
first off, touch your chick and the clique you claim
westside when we ride, come equipped with game
you claim to be a player, but i bust your wife
we bust on bad boys, brothers touch for life
plus puffy trying to see me, weak hearts i rip
biggie smalls and junior m.a.f.i.a. some mark–ss tricks
we keep on coming while we running for your jewels
steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools
you know the rules
lil’ caesar go ask your homie how i’ll leave you
cut your trick -ss up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
little kim, don’t compensate for real g’s
quick to sn-tch your ugly hair off the streets
you little weave! i’ll let them suckas know it’s on for life
don’t let the westside ride the night haha
bad boy murdered on wax and k!lled
mess with me and get your caps peeled
you know

[hook: 2pac]
see, grab your glocks when you see 2pac
call the cops when you see 2pac, oh
who shot me, but your punks didn’t finish
now you about to feel the wrath of a menace
busta, i hit ’em up

(verse 3): 2pac
peep how we do it, keep it real, it’s penintentiary steel
this ain’t no freestyle battle, all you suckers gettin’ k!lled with your
mouths open
tryin’ to come up off of me you and the clouds hopin’, smokin’ dope
it’s like a shermine brothers think they learned to fly
but they burn little suckers you deserve to die
talkin’ about you gettin’ money but it’s funny to me
all you suckers livin’ b-mmy while you messin’ with me
i’m a self made millionaire
thug livin’, out of prison, pistols in the air
biggie remember when i use to let you sleep on the couch
and beg the trick that i 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 a-k
i’m still the thug that you love to hate
little busta i’ll hit ’em up

(verse 4): eazy-e
i never met a o.g. who never did nothing wrong
you tried to diss the eazy-e, so now, sucka, it’s on
you and your doggy dogg think that y’all hoggin’ it
both of you trickes can come and suck my doggy
beatin’ up a girl don’t make you stuff but then again
some brothas think it makes a man
d-mn, it’s a trip how a brotha could switch so quick
from wearin’ lipstick to smokin’ on chronic at picnics
and now you think you’re bigger
but to me you ain’t nothin’ but a quick-d-mn busta!
that ain’t worth a food stamp
and at death row, i hear you gettin’ treated like boot camp
gotta follow your sergeant’s directions
or get your -ss pumped with the smith & wesson
learn a lesson from the eaze
stay in your place and don’t step to real compton city g’s

- eazy e lyrics

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