Lyrics:
In the life we live as thugs
Everybody fuckin' wit' us so can't you see
It's hard to be a man
Ridin' wit' my guns in hand
Why explain the game?
In the life we live as thugs
Everybody fuckin' wit' us so can't you see
It's hard to be a man
Ridin' wit' my guns in hand
Why explain the game?
[ intro: fat joe ]
Yeah yeah
Terror squad what-what
Cuban link what-what
'99, baby
[ verse 1: cuban link ]
Yo ladi-dadi, mami, I love to party
Plus
And you can ask swift gotti
Don't shit get by me
Ask tommy showtime if I did my time
And you can ask L Dog if I ever felt y'all
And ask rock jock if I ever
clique's lookin lavish in upscale casino style
Flexin muscles like a Gotti trial
Yellow case get shook by the court with the judge
You should know a pimp,
the nina beretta
tuck low in two cars back with the 4 4.
And it freaks you out on yo mama's couch,
thats what us thugs be bout, you know me
and when I pray
Oh so you a killer now?
What part of the game is that?
O so you a thug?
What part of the game is that?
So you sold mad drugs?
O so y'all
with Young Thug, I ain't addressing this shit
Caught him in my dressing room stealing dresses and shit
I used to give this nigga with a lisp tests
when we spark they part
Running silly through the court (they don't really wanna start)
How you wanna do? Yo K, anyways
Motherfuckers wanna play we
heaven
[Chorus x2: DJ Rogers & Puff]
What young thugs do for money
What young thugs do for money
[La the Darkman]
Yo, niggaz
Yo, check it yo, I got slugs for snitches
No love for bitches puttin thugs in ditches
When my trigger finger itches
I got a rep that make police jet
on the streets
No gloves pullin' knives out the 'fridge handin' out cold cuts
Ugh streets real thug so recognize thug close yo' eyes thug
You 'bout to die thug
spit hard rhymes
Bible in one hand, the other hand nine
Dreaming of naming streets and boulevards mine
Grab yo piece of the pie, the other parts mine
people signing a book (don't play no games)
This thug life shit
Is running through me veins
I'll bleed for my niggas
Just to give 'em some game
From
they start losing pints
You can die by the gun or the knife
[Chorus: Havoc]
hey yo
Eh yo a nigga ain't stoppin' know I got to get it poppin'
Yo you know
there?)
Yo, hey yo
[Chorus 2X: Sheek and Redman]
Get up, stand up - throw your hands up
All my thug niggaz throw your motherfuckin hands up
Get up, stand
Happy holidays
Let me come here and talk to you
I gotta stop sayin' I'm not doin' this shit no more knowin' I'm cappin'
(Great John on the beat by
[Lil' Gotti]
Now why dey want to see me dead niggas put prices on my head
Now I got two Rottwielers by my bed
Niggas afraid to see a Gambino
the drugs and thugs meet
Yo I bust shots out glocks wid kids that push rocks
Hol' glocks run in spots wid G's like Fort Knox
Rhyme excellent kill 'em
raised by the streets
And then the only other one that ever showed me love
Was my dope fiend uncle strung out on drugs
A straight thug, just me, my mama
I'm with, yo we don't give a fuck
So what the fuck nigga
Yo we don't give a fuck
Surrounded by sounds, smoking clouds
No spaces
Unfamiliar faces, I
a party ahk
Fuck a cop catch a body call it body rock
Blowing sticky on my grizzy call it milli rock
Mind yo bizzy before I smoke you like extended glocs
[Fiend talking]
Yo, Yo
What's up to all my muthafuck soldiers,
My thugs, my warriors, my survivors out there
It's Fiend excited private wit'
uh yo uh yo
Aye yo, I'm old school like Rick Ruler, sick jewels to big buddah
Lift dudes wit the six shooter luger
That means bring it back, NY
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