N.O. Joe - Homies and Thuggs lyrics

[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 the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as [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 the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as [Verse 3: 2Pac] What do you get from boosting? n***as coming out to California, and represent them n***as from Houston And now 2Pac ll keep this sh** popping And all my n***as across the Bay, know L.A., keep the sh** hot I keep a Glock inside my pants , don't give Locaz a chance Put me inside a casket, you dirty ba*tards Until the day I die, you catch a n***a high off weed, the police can't Find me My sh** will drop and I'll sell five million While all the n***as enter the game, they caught up in drug dealing Now how can I fall? how can I ball, how can I catch my enemies and murder 'em all? My words of flame, burn n***as inside their brain n***as can't hang with me, and nuttin's changes, uh Scarface got me on this sh** We lace heat, motherf**ers in they body and face, uh Growing thicker, liquor, maybe ya daddy a n***a n***as don't wanna see me worldwide, mob figure M.O.B., Hennessy keep me g'd and Keyed n***as, don't wanna see me, when I got weed, in my system Catch another victim, capture bodies Bring a shottie to the f**ing party, yeah I party all night I do this sh** cause its wrong but we born right And to these n***as in my zone, we do it long ways 'till these b**hes understand n***a my song pays; cause I'm the man Now these are my homeboys, we outlaws till the day we die Keep this sh**, rough and raw My 45, make sho', that I survived, to another day Just bust rhymes, and brothers get paid Now that's the end, of my freestyle, but it was left for dead Buy the sh**, and you can hear it playing, West Side! [Chorus: Master P] This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as (uuuuugh) This one for the homies and the thug n***as