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]

Writer : STYLES, DAVID/PHILLIPS, JASON T/JACOBS, SEAN D
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing