We Thugs (my Niggas) Lyrics - Styles

All for one, one for all 

This is motherfucking beautiful 

Talk to 'em baby 

This for the cold D's that won't snitch 

For the murderers that won't miss 

For the hustlers that'll front bricks 

For the hoodrats that want chips 

For the stick-up kids creepin with they Pump's ripped 

For lil' shorty with his rhyme books 

Black girls going to school, carrying like 9 books 

For the hood niggas 

That go to work because parole, but they tryin to be good niggas 

For all the poor mothers 

That's always goin' through the struggle, still screamin at the Lord "Love us" 

For the ghetto life 

For having to hold your medal tight lookin' for a better life 

For the family 

For if I'm rich you rich and that shit's a guarantee 

For the best of life 

For if I ride you ride the motherfucking rest of life 

[Chorus: Styles] 

We thugs, my niggas 

Ride to the death with my man cause I motherfucking love my niggas 

We ghetto, my niggas 

Any time, any place, we don't give a fuck we bust metal, my niggas 

We gangsta my niggas 

You oughta keep your mouth shut 

Watch what you sayin cause we shank you, my niggas 

We D-Block niggas, we don't play games 

We just hit you in your frame cause we pop niggas 

Hey yo, yo, I'ma shed blood for mine, that's one ritual 

That's how you keep the love unconditional 

That's why we the only one the thugs listen to 

Bitches buy records but niggas do what bitches do 

I know a few dudes doin' life bids in jail 

And they way smarter then the white kids in Yale 

But that how life is 

And that how the gun and the knife is 

It's a shame but it's real when your enemies like ya 

When ya come through and fishtail in Hennesey Viper 

Listen, it ain't the rappers it's the rats that worry me 

Double R for life, D-Block til they bury me 

Scared niggas shed off 

Or stand in the back and aim they gat up in the air and 

Let off 

Through niggas tear nigga head off, then let the blood keep drippin' 

And just wipe the sweat off 

[Chorus] 

Fuck with P, the thug'll come out 

The slug'll come out 

You don't put in enough work, I got chu 

No doubt 

They don't want Sheek to wild 

Betta cover ya child 

With two guns out the sun-roof 

Salt fish style 

Who that kid? 

Black mask on with the latch on, the AK 

Swing on my shoulder like a Louie bag 

You get it in a hurry 

All up in your Burberry 

Through your assistant 

Through your fucking secure-tary 

All y'all do me a favor 

Walk with me 

If you want money or drugs 

Talk with me 

Know I got my niggas my guns 

The hawk with me 

Guess who? Jada, P, and The Sheek 

Three bricks 

Three whips 

Three motherfucking ouies a week 

Ten spots OT 

Two blew off late 

My niggas cop 

Pop and talk, and we applying the pressure 

So when you address us 

It's Boss 

Boss 

And Boss 

[Chorus]