[Jim Jones]
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Got this problem with these niggaz on the other side of town
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Plus my little homey Pop-la-di he's a rider now
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So you know he want some answers off top he ridin down
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With them automatic weapons, load and fire in the pound (bang bang)
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Hood devestated, prayin that they let him make it
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Heard it 'bout the incident, it's crazy how he just got faded (it's fucked up)
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But it's better places, G's call it heaven's Matrix
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Pray the Lord open up, they told me how heaven's gated (let a thug in)
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Certified, decorated
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Murder never hesitated, I heard it was premeditated (who told you that)
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And my whole hood segregated
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Harlem World's so small, but my whole ghetto dedicated (Eastside, Westside)
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We was young, loose cannons
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Shoot cannons, point aim, broad day, wherever you standin (fuck that do it now)
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We live our life as a G
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Day and, night with the heat, rollin dice on the street
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Now come on
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[Chorus 4X: Jim Jones]
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Do doves fly, when thugs cry?
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Here's a story 'bout the trials and tribulations of this thug life
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[Jim Jones]
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Now, play the game, know the code, say no names
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Fast life ain't no game, R.I.P. Baby Main
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He was large in the game, slingin thangs
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Shiny rings, diamond chains, he's a star in my hood (he was ?)
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All the cars, V12 by the hood
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Had the jets, had the strip, had the power, he was livin that life
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New whips every hour, it's a shame, in my hood
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He'll be missed like the Towers in the midst of the prowess
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Not to put his business out there (uh-huh)
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But the kid'll make you think that Po Rich was out here (like '86)
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And in these stories it mainly contain the lobby
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About the young and the restless like Harlem's main {?}
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[Chorus]
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[Jim Jones]
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We light and chill, each night we would chill
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Block number, fifty-{?}-seven, movin white for them bills
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Stashin open rice for it stales, I tried to tell you
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That my life is so real, they dog me in and bring me home nine-trey
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Took the city on my own crime raid (N.Y.C.)
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Invadin clubs, with brazy bloods (tell 'em)
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Tell Peter Geisha what's up, back to the saga, when Light got killed
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It's like one side of my life is killed, for real
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And Chills turned state fed, couldn't deal with a state bed
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But snitchin breaks the code, gotta lie in your made bed (you know the rules)
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No sympathy homey, you gotta follow them codes
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You get a thousand years of die in that hole (G's up)
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[Chorus]
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-----------------
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When Thugs Die
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| Jim Jones |
