Thug for Life Lyrics
| Song | Thug for Life |
| Artist | Kool G Rap |
| Album | The Giancana Story |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Fireson, 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 ****** than you aimin to be | |
| My Range bling, platty chain hang to the knee | |
| I'm thug for life, ain't no changin me | |
| [Verse One] | |
| Aiyyo, who got the drop, my gun been ******ed | |
| 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 | |
| ******* you wanna pinch and win slot | |
| Clap lead until your big friend drop | |
| ******z'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 *******n stop; before I struck rich | |
| ****** ******* and killed 'em with a ten inch ****** (f'real) | |
| ******* ****** 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 *******t | |
| 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 ******z) Push fly whips (all of the) | |
| Hoes blow ****** (******) G flows sick (what?) | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Verse Two] | |
| My whole life about chrome rims and stone gems (what?) | |
| Big boned skins, Capone brims, ****** 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 ****** 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 *******t but never condone sin | |
| Kept it thug for life baby followed my own trend | |
| [Chorus] | |
| Kid!! Word.. thug *******t | |
| Queens *******t for life ****** |
| zuo ci : Fireson, 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 than you aimin to be | |
| My Range bling, platty chain hang to the knee | |
| I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
| Verse One | |
| Aiyyo, who got the drop, my gun been ed | |
| Spits from fourfives to flintlocks, pinky finger with the pimp rock | |
| Hustle on dim blocks and sip Hennrock | |
| 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 | |
| you wanna pinch and win slot | |
| Clap lead until your big friend drop | |
| z' 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 n stop before I struck rich | |
| and killed ' em with a ten inch f' real | |
| 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 t | |
| 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 z Push fly whips all of the | |
| Hoes blow G flows sick what? | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse Two | |
| My whole life about chrome rims and stone gems what? | |
| Big boned skins, Capone brims, 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 uhhuh | |
| Who raphappy 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 uhhuh | |
| ' Til mixin boards melt down, the microphone bend yea | |
| I spit about street t but never condone sin | |
| Kept it thug for life baby followed my own trend | |
| Chorus | |
| Kid!! Word.. thug t | |
| Queens t for life |
| zuò cí : Fireson, 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 than you aimin to be | |
| My Range bling, platty chain hang to the knee | |
| I' m thug for life, ain' t no changin me | |
| Verse One | |
| Aiyyo, who got the drop, my gun been ed | |
| Spits from fourfives to flintlocks, pinky finger with the pimp rock | |
| Hustle on dim blocks and sip Hennrock | |
| 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 | |
| you wanna pinch and win slot | |
| Clap lead until your big friend drop | |
| z' 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 n stop before I struck rich | |
| and killed ' em with a ten inch f' real | |
| 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 t | |
| 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 z Push fly whips all of the | |
| Hoes blow G flows sick what? | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse Two | |
| My whole life about chrome rims and stone gems what? | |
| Big boned skins, Capone brims, 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 uhhuh | |
| Who raphappy 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 uhhuh | |
| ' Til mixin boards melt down, the microphone bend yea | |
| I spit about street t but never condone sin | |
| Kept it thug for life baby followed my own trend | |
| Chorus | |
| Kid!! Word.. thug t | |
| Queens t for life |
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