Rap-a-Lot Records - Homies and Thugs (Remix) 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 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