Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song S.U.C. For Life, artist - Z-Ro. Date of issue: 14.04.1998
Song language: English
S.U.C. For Life |
| The place that you don’t want to go cause you’ll get no pity block |
| With drug dealers when we need some paper |
| Get on the corner and we bleed till we fifty keep avoiding them haters |
| Cause they keep dropping salt in the game |
| Bumping they gums so they end up getting caught in the game, don’t maintain |
| Handle my business on the low-low, hit a lick and go to Akapoko |
| Sipping on moet and smoking ball bat to that dro and doe-doe |
| Jesus let me ball till I fall in the grave, doing it my way |
| As a rich nigga and call it a day, I play with my K |
| Cause it ain’t no people where I stay |
| Nothing but memories and blood stains of yesterday |
| How can I make it to heaven if I be chilling in hell |
| If they can make a million you can make a million as well |
| Until then, I’ma be making deals with the Jamaicans |
| S.U.C. |
| to the finish until he call me in |
| Recognize my team cause we got players that’s gone represent |
| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life |
| All I want is money chasing paper after dead presidents |
| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life |
| You bet it’s me, K.T., new S-U-S-P-E-C-T |
| Living better and cutting and trying to stack my currencies |
| Stay alive, survive, the lord knows my soul purified |
| And make a way for my family although I know they tried |
| I’m doing bad, wishing for things that I never had |
| It’s my dad, drops and blue over gray rag |
| Until I make a million or more, I’ma smoke and lean |
| And stack my green, until a player hit the floor |
| Waking up calling shots, beam Glocks, and doing shows |
| Getting lifted on flows, six hundred, and hydro |
| K.T. |
| and Z-Ro, on a smash for cream |
| Searching for dead politicians if y’all know what I mean |
| A murdering team, spit my guillotine at you busters |
| On the grind getting mine with the watch full of bezzels |
| M-O-B I would of team until my time is foul |
| Stack my paper, scream Presidential smoke weed and get high |
| Recognize my team cause we got players that’s gone represent |
| Presidential Player for life, I’m a Presidential Player for life |
| All I want is money chasing paper after dead presidents |
| Presidential Player for life, I’m a Presidential Player for life |
| Ain’t shit changed, my life is still about drugs and slugs |
| You could keep your lights on, you’ve got to get your fight on, and mean mug |
| Early birds get the worm, but motherfuckers tend to shortstop |
| The Ro I aim my pistol played a deadly burn |
| Z-Ro the Crooked and my routine will never change |
| Hust-l-ing and bust-l-ing to keep my fingers on some pocket change |
| Got to go stay the same until, I die nigga |
| When I make the tactics of a Mo City then stay high nigga |
| We bleed blocks from seven to seven to seven again |
| Holding scratch, peeping packs, slowed then and three for tens |
| I got what you need, living in this gutter daily |
| Even though I bleed the block it’s like I can’t eat because this life pay me |
| Ducking the police when they be sliding by |
| And I swang low on a sweet chariot as I’m riding high |
| I’m paranoid everytime you see me, cause I be smoking niggas |
| Regular and it’s fucking with my conscience so I bust freely |
| Wake up in the morning and I caught my tip |
| And get ready for another day of this gangsta shit |
| (talking) |
| Y’all know nigga, every motherfucking day |
| You got to get that pay, it’s the only way |
| Recognize my team cause we got players that’s gone represent |
| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life |
| All I want is money chasing paper after dead presidents |
| Screwed Up Click for life, S.U.C. |
| Screwed Up Click for life |