[Jim Jones]
Got this problem with these niggaz 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

[Chorus 4X: Jim Jones]
Do doves fly, when thugs cry?
Here's a story 'bout the trials and tribulations of this thug life

[Jim Jones]
Now, play the game, know the code, say no names
Fast life ain't no game, R.I.P. 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