Jim Jones - When Thugs Die lyrics

Got this problem with these niggas on
The other side of town
Plus my little homey Pop la-di
He's a rider now
So you know he want some answers
Off top he ridin down
With them automatic weapons
Load and fire in the pound (bang bang)
Hood devestated
Prayin that they let him make it
Heard it 'bout the incident
It's crazy how he just got faded
(it's fucked up) but it's better places
G's call it heaven's Matrix
Pray the Lord open up
They told me how heaven's gated
(let a thug in) certified, decorated
Murder never hesitated
I heard it was premeditated
(who told you that)
And my whole hood segregated
Harlem World's so small
But my whole ghetto dedicated
(Eastside, Westside)
We was young, loose cannons
Shoot cannons, point aim, broad day
Wherever you standin (fuck that do it now)
We live our life as a G
Day and, night with the heat
Rollin dice on the street now come on

Do doves fly, when thugs cry?
Here's a story 'bout the trials and
Tribulations of this thug life

Now, play the game, know the code
Say no names
Fast life ain't no game, RIP baby Main
He was large in the game, slingin thangs
Shiny rings, diamond chains
He's a star in my hood (he was?)
All the cars, V12 by the hood
Had the jets, had the strip, had the power
He was livin that life
New whips every hour, it's a shame
In my hood
He'll be missed like the Towers in
The midst of the prowess
Not to put his business out there (uh huh)
But the kid'll make you think that
Po Rich was out here (like '86)
And in these stories it
Mainly contain the lobby
About the young and the
Restless like Harlem's main

We light and chill, each night we would chill
Block number, fifty-seven
Movin white for them bills
Stashin open rice for it stales
I tried to tell you that my life is so real
They dog me in and bring me home nine-trey
Took the city on my own crime raid (NYC)
Invadin clubs, with brazy bloods (tell 'em)
Tell Peter Geisha what's up
Back to the saga, when Light got killed
It's like one side of my life is killed
For real and Chills turned state fed
Couldn't deal with a state bed
But snitchin breaks the code
Gotta lie in your made bed
(you know the rules) no sympathy homey
You gotta follow them codes
You get a thousand years of die in that hole
(G's up)