[Verse 1: Scarface]
Ghetto n***as remain violent while the k**ers remain silent
n***as strapped with 45's and ain't smiling
And I'm driving to a place they're all warrin'
The lake we build houses but its the hood we call home
In the ghetto the only place a motherf**er will keep it real
We focused on the dollar bill, still
The outsiders tend to disrespect the place
Where n***as do they struggling die with a straight face
Surviving, under conditions demons died in
You can run it but can't hide it so step aside
Its the n***a that makes music for the streets
Cause I love this motherf**er like p**y with no sheets
Cause its deep
Some n***as make it out the neighborhood and won't surface
And let the money make them nervous, what's the purpose?
A motherf**er sitting on fat
Who done came up in the hood but he can't come back
f** that, I remain in the street game frame
On a mission to maintain me and take aim
In position to let my opposition know my life
Cause off in these streets I keep it real but what's right?
Surviving, sitting on a key doing business on a beeper
I'm sinking in this motherf**er deeper
Fear the reaper that no man born or woman harm me
f** being a n***a in your army; though I'm a k**er
Enter the ghetto so that you can see
What I mean when I say I love this cause it loves me
Let it be, stop looking at this motherf**er strange
And talking 'bout a motherf**ing change
This is for my thug n***as
[Chorus: Master P]
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
[Verse 2: Master P]
'Face, imagine us working at McDonald's
To me and you, selling f**ing, tapes to the Bahamas
Gold slug, a car full of thug n***as
Twenty inch wheels candy paint so we drug dealers
No Limit soldiers to the fullest
See I was raised on red beans the size of some bullets, huh
We ghetto n***as can't be stopped
Got me mixing up dope with little J down at Rap-A-Lot
My phone tapped the feds on my tail
Got me paying luxury taxes on everything I build
True to the ghetto that's my life
You see that house on the lake its for the kids and the wife
You can test me if you wanna
Cause I be dumping n***as off from New Orleans to California
Rowdy like a hurricane (uuuuuugh)
Independent, black owned got 'em hooked on this c**aine
You used to see CEO's in suits and ties
But we young n***as in tennis shoes and diamonds
Executive street millionaires
n***as gonna be bout it bout till we gray in the wheel chair
(Chorus: Master P]
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
This one for my homies and my thug n***as (uuuuugh)
[Verse 3: Doracell]
It's alive, and I'mma be tha muhf**in' one
Make these n***as want some
Here I come
Da Last Don
n***as steady claiming this
Tatted on my wrist since 86
What tha f**?
I'm sitting in my cell block stuck
Listening to this sh** my radio did
sh**, gotta change the situation
Write a letta to the warden mothaf** all this time wasting
Chasin' n***as wit my occupation
Clean across the nation
Lookin' for two-facin
The gangsta, the k**a, and the dope-dealer all in one
Now past me my muthaf**in' gun
n***as feelin' they invincible
Til' they dealin' wit tha muthaf**in' principle
Doracell n***a
I ain't scared cause 2Pac got k**ed
I'm on tilt
Feelin' the muthaf**in' guilt
Thug n***a