two words
two words

two words easy guitar chords by Hi-5

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E A D G B E

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  • Verse 1

    West
    side, 
    bad 
    boy 
    killers, 

    you 
    know 
    who 
    the realest 
    is, 
    niggas, 
    we bring 
    it 
    to you 

    First 
    off, 
    fuck your 
    bitch 

    and the 
    clique 
    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 
    boys, 

    niggas, 
    fuck 
    for life 

    Plus, 

    Puffy 
    tryna 
    see me, 

    Greek 
    hearts 
    rip 

    Biggie 

    Smalls 
    and 

    Junior 

    Mafia, 
    some 
    mock 
    -ass 
    bitches 

    We 
    keep on 
    comin' 
    while we 

    runnin' 
    for yo' 
    jewels 

    Steady 
    gunnin', 

    keep 
    on bustin' 
    at them 
    fools 

    You 
    know the 
    rules, 

    Lil' 

    Ceaser, 
    go 
    ask 
    your homie 

    how 
    I leave you 

    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 
    beats, 

    I let them 
    niggas 
    know it's 
    on 
    for life 

    Don't 
    let 
    the 

    Westside 
    ride 
    the night 

    Ha 
    -ha, 
    bad 
    boy 
    murdered 
    on 
    wax 
    and 
    kill 

    Fuck 
    with me and 
    get yo' 
    cat's 
    pill 

    You 
    know, 
    see, 

    grab 
    your 
    blocks 
    when 
    you see 

    Tupac 

    Call 
    the 
    cops 
    when you 
    see 

    Tupac, 
    uh 

    Who 
    shot 
    me? 

    Bunch 
    of 
    punks 
    didn't 
    finish 

    Now you 
    bout to 
    feel the 

    wrath 
    of 
    a menace 

    Nigga, 
    I hit 
    him up 

    Check 
    this out, 
    you motherfuckers 

    know 
    what time 
    it is 

    I don't even 
    know why 
    I'm on 
    this track 

    'all niggas 
    ain't 
    even on 
    my level 

    I'ma 
    let my 
    lil' homies 
    ride 
    on you 

    bitch 
    -made 
    -ass 
    bad -boy 
    bitches 

    Feel 
    me! 

    Get out 
    the way, 
    yo, 
    get out 
    the way, 
    yo 

    Big
    gie 

    Smosh 
    just 
    got dropped 

    Lil' 

    Moo 
    passed 
    the 
    mat 

    And 
    let me 
    hit 
    him in his 
    back 

    Frank 

    Wright 
    need to 
    get spanked 

    right for 
    settin' 
    tracks 

    Little 
    accident 
    murderers, 

    and I 
    ain't never 
    heard 
    of ya 

    Pois
    onous 
    cats attack 

    when 
    I'm serving 
    ya 

    Spank 
    the shank, 

    get hostile 
    when 
    gank 

    Guard 
    your rank, 
    cause 

    I'ma 
    slam 
    your ass 
    in 
    the paint 

    Puffy 
    weaker 
    than a 
    fuckin' 
    block, 

    I'm runnin' 
    through, 
    nigga 

    And 
    I'm 
    smokin' 

    Junior 

    Mafia 
    in 
    front 
    of you, nigga 

    With 
    the 
    ready power, 

    tuckin' my 
    guests 
    un
    der my 

    Eddie 

    Bauer 

    Ya 
    clout 
    petty sour, 

    I put packages 
    every 
    hour 

    Hit 
    em up 

    Grab your 

    Glocks 
    when 
    you see 

    Tupac 

    Call 
    the 
    cops 
    when you 
    see 

    Tupac, 
    uh 

    Who 
    shot 
    me, 

    but 
    your 
    punks 
    didn't 
    finish 

    Now you 
    bout to 
    feel the 

    wrath 
    of a 
    menace 

    Nigga, 
    we 
    hit 
    em up, 
    how we 
    do 
    it, keep 
    it real, 

    it's 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, 
    open 

    Smokin' 
    dope, 
    it's like 
    a sherm, 

    all 
    our niggas 
    think they 
    learn 
    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, 

    why you 
    fuckin' 
    with me? 

    I'm 
    a self 
    -made 
    millionaire 

    Thug 
    livin' 
    out a 
    prison, 

    pistols 
    in 
    the air 

    Biggie, 
    re
    member 
    when I 
    used 

    to let you 
    sleep on 
    the couch 

    And 
    beg 
    a bitch 
    to let you 

    sleep 
    in the house 

    Now 
    it's all 
    about 

    Versace 

    You 
    copy 
    my style 

    Five 
    shots 
    couldn't 
    drop 
    me 

    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, 
    hit 

    I'm from 

    N .E 
    .W. 

    Jers 

    Where 
    plenty 
    murders 
    occurs 

    No 
    point 
    to come 
    if we 
    bring the 

    drama 
    to all 
    you herds 

    Now 
    go check 
    the 
    scenario 

    Little 
    scenes, 
    I bring 
    you fake 

    G's 

    Sit 
    your knees, 

    coppin' 
    pleas 
    and degenerio 

    Little 
    gimmicks, 
    you coped 
    up 
    or doped 
    up 

    Get 
    your little 
    junior 
    wife 

    a click 
    smoked 
    up 

    What 
    the fuck 
    is 
    you 
    stupid? 

    Did 
    I take 
    money, 

    crash 
    and mash 
    through 

    Brooklyn? 

    When 
    my clique 
    lootin', 

    shootin' 
    and 
    pollutin' 
    your block 

    With 
    15 
    -shock, 
    hot 
    clock 
    till 
    you lie, 

    outlaw
    in' 
    mafia clique 

    Movin' 
    up 
    another 
    notch 
    in your 

    box 
    -top spots 

    Get mobbed 
    and 
    dropped, 

    all 
    your fake 
    -ass 

    East 

    Coast 
    props 

    Brainstormed 
    and locked 

    Use 

    -biter, 
    a park 
    -style 
    taker 

    I'll 
    tell 
    you to your 
    face, 

    you 
    ain't shit 
    but a 
    faker 

    So 
    for 
    the alizé 
    with a 
    chaser 

    Bout 
    to get murdered 
    for 
    the paper 

    .D. 
    I mean 
    the processing 
    of 
    the caper 

    Like 
    a loke 
    with 
    low 
    season 
    and 

    choker 


    Now 
    you 
    tell 
    me who 
    won, 

    I see 
    them, 
    they run 

    They 
    don't 
    wanna see 
    us, 

    whole 
    junior mafia 

    clique 

    Dressing 
    up 
    tryna be 
    us, 

    how the fuck 
    they 

    gon' 
    be the 
    mob when 

    we always 
    on 
    our job 

    We 
    millionaires, 

    killing ain't 
    fair 
    but somebody 

    gotta 
    do 
    it 

    Oh 
    yeah, 

    Mob 

    D, 
    huh, 
    you wanna fuck 
    with 
    us? 

    You 
    little young 
    -ass 

    motherfuckers 

    Don't one 
    of you niggas 
    got 

    sickle 
    cell or 
    something? 

    You 
    fuckin' 
    with me 
    nigga, you 
    fuckin' with 

    her and have 
    a seizure 
    or 
    a heart attack 

    You 
    better back 
    the 
    fuck up 
    before you 

    get smacked 
    the 
    fuck 
    up 

    It's 
    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 
    your 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 
    their mouth 

    with a 
    mother
    fucker 
    opinion 

    Well, 
    this how 
    we gon' 
    do this 

    Fuck 

    Mobb 

    Fuck 

    Biggie 

    Fuck 

    Bad 

    Boy as 
    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 
    fo' 
    -fo' 
    make 
    sure all 

    'all kids 
    don't 
    grow 

    You 
    motherfuckers 
    can't 

    P .S. 
    or 

    .S. 

    We motherfuckin' 
    thug 
    like 

    riders 
    westside 
    till 
    we die 

    Out 
    here 
    in 

    California, 
    nigga, 
    we warn 
    you 

    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 
    quatruple 

    You 
    niggas 
    laugh 
    cause our 
    staff 
    got 

    guns 
    in they 
    motherfuckin' 
    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 
    killas 


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