Fake Ass Bitches

"Tell me about these fake-ass bitches."

"Over here little nigger, most of these niggers be bitches, too.
But you don't never hear that side of the story, so uh, we fittin'
to do this shit like this. . ."

It's like I tell my niggers "Keep your eyes on these bitches."
They love to G a nigger young, dumb and gettin' riches.
What the fuck you think a trick is, nigger?
Nigger done stick and wet his dick
and then get tricked out of his riches by a bitch.
I'm here to school you to the rules of the game, it'll cost you.
Think you hold it all just 'cause she let a nigger toss her.
It's like a mother fuckin' priveledge.
So don't give up the conversation, give that bitch your seven digits.
When she call ya, ask that little tramp "What's up?"
And if she hesitates, nigger hang up. Word up!
And let the bitch meditate to the dial tone,
and call me when you ready to bone.
Then it's on, a mother fuckin' Mac tonight
Stay back, stay strapped 'cause my raps is tight.
You fuckin' punks, I hate you snitches
went against the grain and the game to be fake ass bitches.

"God damn, you can't just hit them niggas with that game and expect
'em to accept it. Girl you heard me, niggas' fearless. But we gonna
kick this shit like this here. . ."


I can't stand fake-ass bitches,
lying-ass niggers, and you punk-ass snitches.
I can't stand fake-ass bitches,
lying-ass niggers, and you punk-ass snitches.


Time to show these bustas who's boss
Run up on a real mother fucker and get tossed.
The game is deep and thicker than a mother fuckin' jimmy.
Broke ho's, running 'round yelling "Gimme!"
I can't stand it, ho's talkin' 'bout they got a man.
Shit, all I wanted her to do is suck my dick.
So how about hittin' a mother fucker on my pager?
Busy now bitch, but you can give me the pussy later.
Fly how I fade her, played her like a game of Sega.
Fucking with the player that made her.
And I ain't sleepin' caught you creepin' for my money
got the dick and now you get the pistol, honey, bitch.
So get the Prozac, knockin' ho's back.
Keep my dough stacked. So where the mother fuckin' ho's at?
Punk niggas can't fade the Mac.
Living fat, gettin' paid to rap, it's like that.
You mother fuckin' bitches.

"She educated a whole bunch of you old raggedy ass niggers, so
y'all take that shit back to y'all's camp and you sleep on that
there. It's like..."

I can't stand fake-ass bitches,
lying-ass niggers, and you punk-ass snitches.
(Repeat 3x)

"Oh, you too, nigger. Don't think we ain't talking about your punk ass!
You old fake-ass nigger. Standin' there wearing all them Pendletons,
and khakis and all that, and you soft as a mother fuckin' grape.
Ain't this a mother-fuckin' bitch? I can see right through your
flower ass. Some of these niggers is bitches, too. Man, I tell you.
It's gonna be harder and harder to be a thug in '94. But we gonna do
this shit. Y'all take this shit and you play this shit for every single
fake-ass bitch out there. And there's plenty of 'em. You probably got
one sitting next to you right now, bobbing his fake-ass head to this
dope-ass shit that he listenin' to. Fake-ass mother fuckin' bitch. Die
in '94. I put this in the nicest way possible, man, you know? I mean, uh..."




Transcription 1997 by Jim Moore for Relativity Labs.
Written by Tupac Shakur, J. Jackson.
1997 Interscope Records. All Rights Reserved.
Used without permisson.