Eazy-E — Real Muthaphuckkin Gs/Hit Em Up Remix

(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 hell 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 (Damn, 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 album 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-ass 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 ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased Little Kim, don't compensate for real G's Quick to snatch 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 killed 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' killed 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' bummy 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 it, but then again Some brothas think it makes a man Damn, 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-damn 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 ass 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