Posts Tagged streets
2 Pac & Nas – Thugz Mansion
Posted by Sprintringtones.org in Monophonic (1 - 9) on August 25th, 2009
Monophonic Ringtones : 2 Pac & Nas – Thugz Mansion
Click on the above link to download the 2 Pac & Nas – Thugz Mansion monophonic ringtone to your Sprint phones.
Thugz Mansion’s Lyric
2Pac:
S**t, tired of getting shot at, tired of getting
chased by the police and arrested
Niggas need a spot where we could kick it,
a spot where we belong, thats just for us
Niggas aint gotta get all dressed up and
be Hollywood, know what I mean?
Where dem niggas go when we die?
Aint no heaven for a thug nigga,
thats why we go to Thug Mansion,
thats the only place where thugs get in free
And you gotta be a G, at Thug Mansion
A place to spend my quiet nights,
time to unwind
So much pressure in this life of mine
I cry times I was contempletin suicide,
and woulda tried
But when I held that knife all I could see
was my mommas eyes
No one knows my struggle,
they only see the trouble
Not knowin is hard to carry on
when no one loves you
Picture me inside the misery of poverty
No man alive has ever witnessed
struggles I survived
Prayin hard for better days,
promised to hold on
Me and my dawgs aint have a choice but to roll on
We finally found a spot where we could kick it
Where we could drink liquor and
no one bickers over trick s**t
A spot where we could smoke in peace
and even though we Gs we still
visualize places that we could roll in peace
And in my mind I see this place
the players goin past
and got a spot for us all so we could ball,
at Thugz Mansion
Chorus:
Every corner, every city,
theres a place where lives a little busy
Little had you see, way back at cool
Every hour cuz its all good
We hold the stress from the world outside
Every wrong there will be a right
Nothing but peace, love, and street passion
Every ghetto needs a thug mansion
Nas:
A place where death doesn’t reside
Just thugs who collide
Not to start beeper spark treatin no cops rollin by
No policeman, no homicide
No talk on the streets
No reason for nobodies momma to cry
See Im a good guy
Im tryin to stick around for my daughter
But if I should die I know all my albums support her
This whole years been crazy
ask the holy spirit to save me
Only difference from me and Nosie Davis
Gray hair maybe
Cuz I feel like my eyes saw too much sufferin
Im just 20 sum odd years
and I had lost my mother
And I cry tears of joy,
I know she smiles on her boy
I dream of you more,
my love goes to Afena Shakir
Cuz like Anne Jones she raised a
ghetto king in the war
And just for that alone she shouldn’t
feel no pain no more
Cuz one day well all be together
Sippin heavenly champagne
What Andrew saw, where golden reigns
In Thugz Mansion
Chorus:
Every corner, every city,
theres a place where lives a little busy
Little had you see, way back at cool
Every hour cuz its all good
We hold the stress from the world outside
Every wrong there will be a right
Nothing but peace, love, and street passion
Every ghetto needs a thug mansion
2Pac:
Dear momma, dont cry
Your baby boys doin good,
tell the homies Im in heaven
And they aint gotta hurt
Seen a show with marvin Gaye last night
It had me shook
Drippin peppermint snops with Jackie Wilson
And Sam cook
The some lady named Billy Holiday
Sang sittin there kickin it with Malcolm
Til the day came
Little Natasha, she all grown
Tell the lady in the liquor store
That shes forgiven, so come home
Maybe in time youll understand
Only God can save us
With Mile Davis cutting loose
With the band
Just think of all the people
that you knew and that passed
that passed on lay in heaven
Found peace at last
Picture a place that they exist together
There has to be a place
Better than this in Heaven
So right before I sleep then
God what Im asking..
Remember this face,
Save me a place
In Thugz Mansion
Chorus:
Every corner, every city,
theres a place where lives a little busy
Little had you see, way back at cool
Every hour cuz its all good
We hold the stress from the world outside
Every wrong there will be a right
Nothing but peace, love, and street passion
Every ghetto needs a thug mansion
2 Pac – Hit Em Up
Posted by Sprintringtones.org in Monophonic (1 - 9) on August 24th, 2009
Monophonic Ringtones : 2 Pac – Hit Em Up
Click on the above link to download the 2 Pac – Hit Em Up monophonic ringtone to your Sprint phones.
Hit Em Up’s Lyric
[Tupac]
I ain’t got no motherf**king friends
That’s why I f**ked your b**ch
You’re fat motherf**ker {Take Money}
West Side
Bad Boy Killers {Take Money}
You know who the realist is
niggas we bring it to {Take Money}
(ha ha, that’s alright)
First off, f**k your b**ch
And the click you claim
West side when we ride
Come equipped with game
You claim to be a player
But I f**ked your wife
We bust on Bad Boys
niggas f**k for Life
Plus Puffy tryin’ to see me weak
Hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior Mafia
Some mark a*s b**ches
We keep on coming
While we running for your jewels
Steady gunning
Keep on busting at them fools
You know the rules
Little Ceasar go ask you homie
How I’ll leave you
Cut your young a*s up
See you in pieces
Now be deceased
Little Kim,
Don’t f**k around with real G’s
Quick to snatch your ugly a**, off the streets
So f**k peace
I’ll let them niggas know
It’s on for Life
Don’t let the west side
Ride the night (ha ha)
Bad Boys murdered on Wax and kill
f**k with me
And get your caps peeled
You know, see
[Chorus:]
Grab your glocks when you see 2pac
Call the cops when you see 2pac, uh
Who shot me,
But your punks didn’t finish
Now you ’bout to feel the wrath of a menace
nigga, I hit ‘em up
Check this out
You motherf**kers know what time it is
I don’t know why I’m even on this track
You all niggas ain’t even on my level
I’m going to let my little homies
Ride on you
b**ch made a*s Bad Boys b**ches
{ah yo, yo, hold the f**k up}
Get out the way yo
Get out the way yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little move pass the mac
And let me hit ‘em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right
For setting up traps
Little accident murderers
And I ain’t never heard of you
Poise less gats attack when I’m serving you
Spank the shank
Your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank
’cause I’m a slam your a*s in a pang
Puffy weaker than a f**kin’ block
I’m running through nigga
And I’m smoking Junior Mafia
In front of you nigga
With the ready power
Tucked in my Guess
Under my Eddie Bauer
Your clout petty sour
I push packages ever hour
I hit ‘em up
[Chorus]
Peep how we do it
Keep it real
Its penitentiary steel
This ain’t no freestyle battle
All you niggas getting killed
With your mouths open
Tryin’ to come up off of me
You and the clouds hoping
Smoking dope
It’s like a Shermine
niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn motherf**ker you deserve to die
Talking about you Getting Money
But it’s funny to me
All you niggas living bummy
While you f**king with me?
I’m a self made Millionaire
Thug livin’, out of prison
Pistols in the Air {Air} (Ha Ha)
Biggie remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the b**ch to let you sleep in the house
Now it’s all about Versace
You copied my style
Five shots couldn’t drop me
I took it and smiled
Now I’m back to set the record straight
With my A-K
I’m still the thug that you love to hate
Mother-f**ker I’ll Hit ‘Em Up
I’m from N E W Jers.
Where plenty of murder occurs
No points to come
We bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenario
Little Ceas’
I’ll bring you fake G’s to your knees
Copin’ pleas with these
Little Kim is you
Coked up or doped up
Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up
What the f**k?
Is you stupid?
I take money,
crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my click looting, shooting, and polluting your block
With fifteen shot,
Cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw Mafia click moving up another notch
And your Pop stars popped and get dropped and mopped
And all your fake a*s east coast props
Brainstormed and locked
You’re a beat biter
Pac style taker
I’ll tell you to face, you ain’t nothing s**t but a faker
So fill the Alize with a chaser
’bout to get murdered for the paper
E.d.i I mean post the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas’ in a choke (uh)
Toting smoke, we ain’t no motherf**kin’ joke
Thug Life, niggas better be known
Be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking
No need for hoping
It’s a battle lost
I gottem crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off
nigga, I hit ‘em up
Now you tell me who won
I see them, they run (ha ha)
They don’t wanna see us
Whole Junior Mafia click
Dressing up to be us
How the f**k they gonna be the Mob?
When we always on out job
We millionaire’s
Killing ain’t fair
But somebody got to do it
Oh yah Mobb Deep (uh)
You wanna f**k with us
You Little young a*s motherf**kers
Don’t one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something
You’re f**king with me, nigga?
You f**k around and catch a seizure or a heart-attack
You better back the f**k up
Before you get smacked the f**k up
This is how we do it on our side
Any of you niggas from New York that want to bring it,
Bring it.
But we ain’t singing,
We bringing drama
f**k you and your mother f**king mama.
We’re gonna kill all you mother f**kers.
Now when I came out, I told you it was just about biggie.
Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother f**king opinion
Well this is how we gonna’ do this:
f**k Mobb Deep,
f**k Biggie,
f**k Bad Boy as a staff, record label, and as a mother f**king crew.
And if you want to be down with Bad Boy,
Then f**k you too.
Chino XL, f**k you too.
All you mother f**kers,
f**k you too.
(take money, take money)
All of y’all mother f**kers,
f**k you, die slow motherf**ker.
My four four (.44 magnum) make sure all your kids don’t grow.
You motherf**kers can’t be us or see us.
We mother f**kin’ Thug Life riders.
West Side till’ we die.
Out here in California, nigga
We warned ya’
We’ll bomb on you mother f**kers.
We do our job.
You think you the mob, nigga, we the motherf**kin’ mob
Ain’t nothing but killers
And the real niggas, all you motherf**kers feel us.
Our s**t goes triple and four quadruple
You niggas laugh ’cause our staff got guns under they motherf**kin’ belts
You know how it is and we drop records they felt
You niggas can’t feel it
We the realist
f**k ‘em.
We Bad Boy killers.