Confessions

[Bizzy]
  I have a confession to make...
  Stripped 'em naked. Mama Rose, they made me take off my clothes and
  showed my bruises, open the door and saw my parents, Oh! One hundred and
  fifty-five pounds, on the ground, they can't hold me down. I'm sellin' my sound to
  the 'ground, now turn 'em all 'round, and I'm bound to break-down." It'll take
  armies, harmony army. And the law (he) saw me and I'm ballin', callin' on
  God's children, naughty. Put it on my daughter. And a lame name calle me.
  God's still sorry, but it was strictly for your shorty. Be out your beamer,
  and your muthafuckin' boy. Don't call me bitch!. Ghetto Ross, in door more
  swords, and of course, it's yours and I'm closin' the doors and I let 'em
  off, it's war. Put 'em off. Spark on the floor. (floor) You know we stressin'
  with the essence, excellence is destined. Armageddon. My head ain't a bobbin'
  right outta town. (town, town)
  
[2Pac]
  Stressed, I'm busta-free. Enemies give me reason, to be the last muthafucka
  breathin'. Bustin', my automatic rounds catch 'em while they (The day I got
  outta jail, there was a muthafuckin' problem.) sleepin', now I'm the
  last muthafucka breathin'. Stressed, I'm busta-free. Enemies give me reason,
  to be the last muthafucka breathin'. Bustin', my automatic rounds catch 'em
  while they sleepin', now I'm the last muthafucka breathin'.

  Woke up with fifty enemies plottin' my death. All fifty shared visions of me
  shot in the chest. Couldn't rest, naw nigga I was stressed, had me creepin'
  'round corners, homies. Sleepin' in my vest. Shit, I'm like a hostage on this
  troubled block, call the cops. A thug nigga screamin', "Westside!" bustin'
  double-glocks. Hittin' corners in my Chevy Suburban. Liquor got me drivin' up
  on the curb, handlin' steering wheel spokes. Bless me Father, I'm a sinner.
  I'm livin' in Hell, let me live on these streets, 'cause ain't no peace
  for me in jail. Gettin' world-wide exposure with a bunch of niggas that don't
  give a fuck, ridin' as my soldiers. I'm just a missle on a warpath, not your
  average dealer. Westside outlaw, Bad Boy killer. Huh, complete my
  mission. My competition, I'm all up beefin'. I murdered all them bustas, now I'm
  the last muthafucka breathin'.
  Stressed, I'm busta-free. Enemies give me reason, to be the last muthafucka
  breathin'. Bustin', my automatic rounds catch 'em while they sleepin', now
  I'm the last muthafucka breathin'. [x2]