Master P

"Homies and Thuggs (Remix)"

[Verse 1: Scarface]
Ghetto n*ggas remain violent while the killers remain silent
n*ggas 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 it's the hood we call home
In the ghetto the only place a motherf*cker will keep it real
We focused on the dollar bill, still
The outsiders tend to disrespect the place
Where n*ggas 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
It's the n*gga that makes music for the streets
Cause I love this motherf*cker like pus*y with no sheets
Cause it's deep
Some n*ggas make it out the neighborhood and won't surface
And let the money make them nervous, what's the purpose?
A motherf*cker sitting on fat
Who done came up in the hood but he can't come back
f*ck 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*cker deeper
Fear the reaper that no man born or woman harm me
f*ck being a n*gga in your army; though I'm a killer
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*cker strange
And talking 'bout a motherf*cking change
This is for my thug n*ggas

[Hook: Master P]
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas

[Verse 2: Master P]
'Face, imagine us working at McDonald's
To me and you, selling f*cking, tapes to the Bahamas
Gold slug, a car full of thug n*ggas
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*ggas 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 it's for the kids and the wife
You can test me if you wanna
Cause I be dumping n*ggas off from New Orleans to California
Rowdy like a hurricane (uuuuuugh)
Independent, black owned got 'em hooked on this cocaine
You used to see CEO’s in suits and ties
But we young n*ggas in tennis shoes and diamonds
Executive street millionaires
n*ggas gonna be 'bout it 'bout 'til we gray in the wheel chair

[Hook: Master P]
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas

[Verse 3: 2Pac]
What do you get from boosting?
n*ggas coming out to California, and represent them n*ggas from
Houston
And now 2Pac ll keep this sh*t popping
And all my n*ggas across the Bay, know L.A., keep the sh*t hot
I keep a Glock inside my pants , don't give Locaz a chance
Put me inside a casket, you dirty bast*rds
Until the day I die, you catch a n*gga high off weed, the police can't
Find me
My sh*t will drop and I'll sell five million
While all the n*ggas 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*ggas inside their brain
n*ggas can't hang with me, and nuttin's changes, uh
Scarface got me on this sh*t
We lace heat, motherf*ckers in they body and face, uh
Growing thicker, liquor, maybe ya daddy a n*gga
n*ggas don't wanna see me worldwide, mob figure
M.O.B., Hennessy keep me g'd and
Keyed n*ggas, don’t wanna see me, when I got weed, in my system
Catch another victim, capture bodies
Bring a shottie to the f*cking party, yeah
I party all night
I do this sh*t cause it's wrong but we born right
And to these n*ggas in my zone, we do it long ways
'til these b*tches understand n*gga my song pays; cause I'm the man
Now these are my homeboys, we outlaws 'til the day we die
Keep this sh*t, 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 laced with game
Buy my sh*t and you can hear it plain, West Side!

[Hook: Master P]
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas (uuuuugh)
This one for the homies and the thug n*ggas

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