"Thug for Life" as written by Richard Frierson and Nathaniel Thomas Wilson....
I'm thug for life, ain't no changin' me
I'm thug for life, ain't no changin' me
I pop off guns and live dangerously
I'm lot more nigga than you aimin' to be
My range bling, platty chain hang to the knee
I'm thug for life, ain't no changin' me

Aiyyo, who got the drop, my gun been cocked
Spits from four-fives to flintlocks, pinky finger with the pimp rock
Hustle on dim blocks and sip Henn-rock
Draw quick, got a second hand like Big Ben clock (ya heard?)
Reach for that heat, put your wig in the wind pop
Fill your belly with ten shots; if I get hit
And you see blood then flood the bullet wound with gin shots
Put beef in a Slim Jim box
Bitch you wanna pinch and win slot
Clap lead until your big friend drop
Niggaz'll front until I send chin shots
Beat the rock until they send cops (or what?)
'Til one of us'll get carried out on the thin cot
Emergency room skin chopped by ten docs
Got it locked like a bid in the state pen box
When I dares peers hangin' to where my shin stop; before I struck rich
Fucked bitches and killed 'em with a ten inch cock (f'real)
Bitch nigga stuck him with a ten inch ock (y'know?)
Bread bloods and stiff vodka, deep in this game
Know the feds want the clique locked up
We love brain so we headhunt like witchdoctors
My lil' momma let lead dump from big poppa
Even the Jake surrounded the spread with pig choppers
That taste preposterous; tear gas, tanks of oxygen
Like we in banks with hostages (what we want?)
All we want is minks and ostriches (what?)
Diamond cuff links and proper shit
Snitches left stinkin' in carpet stiff
Or get they carcasses turned to link sausages (f'real)
Ain't nuttin sweet, we known for bangin cartridges
We got the heart for this
No matter how light or dark it is (ya heard?)
(No matter how light or dark it is, f'real)

Thug for life (what?) Rep by strips (killers)
Let loose clips (dealers) Stack mad chips (you know we)
Bag bad chicks (my niggaz) Push fly whips (all of the)
Hoes blow dick (nigga) G flows sick (what?)


My whole life about chrome rims and stone gems (what?)
Big boned skins, Capone brims, dick blown in my own Benz
Quick to Scarface thugs who raise up blown brims
Dolla trickin' never politickin' with grown mens
Ideas of settin' me up for loot I won't bend
Just make that light bulb at the top of your dome dim (uh-huh)
Who rap-happy nigga keep the lyrics and poems grim
Get found at the bottom of the river with stone Timbs (word)
Babyface, swimmin' flash stomach and toned limbs
Wake up every mornin work out in the home gym
Reppin this rap game until my zone ends (uh-huh)
'Til mixin boards melt down, the microphone bend (yea)
I spit about street shit but never condone sin
Kept it thug for life baby followed my own trend


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"Thug for Life" as written by Richard Frierson Nathaniel Thomas Wilson

Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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