The best diss of all-time

WrAtH oF A mEnAcE

I ain't got to motherfucking friends.. that's why I fucked yo bitch fat motherfucker Westside, Bad Boy Killers First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim Westside when we ride come equipped with game You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife We bust on Bad Boy niggaz fucked for life Plus Puffy tryin' ta see me weak hearts I rip Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. Some mark-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 ya homie how I leave ya 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 peace I let them niggaz know it's on for life So let the Westside ride tonight Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed Fuck wit' me and get yo' caps peeled, you know, see Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac Call the cops, when you see Tupac, uh Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace Nigga, we hit em' up Yes, yo, Outlaw to this mutherfucker (take money) West Coast, what's up? (take money) What's up Get out the way yo, get out the way yo Biggie Smalls just got shot Little Moo, pass the mac, and let me hit him in his back Frank White need to get spanked right, for settin' traps Little accident murderers, and I ain't never heard-a ya Poisinous gats attack when I'm servin' ya Spank ya shank ya whole style when I gank Guard your rank, 'cause I'ma slam your ass in the paint Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block I'm runnin through nigga And I'm smokin' Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you nigga With the ready power tuckin' my Guess under my Eddie Bauer Ya clout petty sour, I get packages every hour to hit 'em up Oh Call the cops, when you see Tupac Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace Nigga, I hit em' up Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel This ain't no freestyle battle All you niggaz gettin killed with ya mouths open Tryin' to come up offa me, you in the clouds hopin' Smokin dope it's like a sherm high niggaz think they learned to fly But they burn motherfucker, you deserve to die Talkin' bout you gettin' money but it's funny to me All you niggaz livin' bummy, why you fuckin' with me? I'm a self made millionaire Thug livin' out a prison, pistols in the air Biggie, remember 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 copied my style Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled Now I'm bout to set the record straight With my A.K. I'm still the thug that you love to hate Motherfucker, I hit 'em up I'm from N-E-W Jers' Where plenty of murders occurs No points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs Now go check the scenario Little Ceas' I'll bring you fake G's to your knees Copping pleas in de Janeiro Little Kim, is you coked up or doped up? Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up What the fuck, is you stupid? I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn With my click looting, shooting and polluting your block With a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot Outlaw MAFIA clique moving up another notch And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped And all your fake ass East coast props Brainstormed and locked You's a, beat biter A Pac style taker I'll tell you to your face you ain't shit but a faker Softer than Alize with a chaser About to get murdered for the paper E.d.i Amin approach the scene of the caper Like a loc, with Little Ceas' in a choke Gun totin' smoke. We ain't no motherfucking joke nigga, better be known We approaching in the wide open, gun smoking No need for hoping, it's a battle lost I got em crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off Nigga, I hit em up Oh oh Hah yeah We hit 'em up Grab ya glocks, when you see Tupac Come on with the next shit Who shot me, but ya punks didn't finish Now ya bout to feel the wrath of a menace Nigga, we hit em' up

Now you tell me who won I see them, they run, hahahaha They don't wanna see us Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique dressin' up tryna be us How the fuck they gonna be the mob When we always on our job? We millionaires Killin' ain't fair, but somebody gotta do it Oh yeah, Mobb Deep, you wanna fuck with us? You little young-ass motherfuckers Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or somethin'? You're fuckin' with me, nigga You fuck around and have a seizure or a heart attack You better back the fuck up Before you get smacked the fuck up This is 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 yo' 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 motherfuckin' opinion Well, this is how we gonna do this: fuck Mobb Deep! Fuck Biggie! Fuck Bad Boy as a 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 .44 make sho' all y'all kids don't grow! You motherfuckers can't be us or see us We motherfuckin' Thug Life ridas Westside 'til we die! Out here in California, nigga, we warned ya We'll bomb on you motherfuckers! We do our job! You think you mob? Nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob! Ain't nothin' but killas And the real niggas, all you motherfuckers feel us Our shit goes triple and 4-quadruple You niggas laugh 'cause our staff got guns under they motherfuckas 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!