It’s the Life lyrics

[Young Chris]
Yo a yo everybody name brand
Me I was same pants, same top
Broken hot dogs out the same pot
Since a buck I been packin weapons
Only strappin n*ggas do when they sexin
Airheads in they crew is just yes men
My music and my shoot I perfect in
I can't afford to lose I'm destined
And hit that road collect tryna hop up
Outta the hood, n*ggas frown they see me pop up
Get locked up and they still with the coppers
Give them something from them choppers I got filled with the coppers
Leavin them gaspin need ox call the doctor
Raw and uncut no mask know who shot ya
Try and tell 'em chill for real but they don't listen though
Till the 4-5th come and kiss 'em under the missle toe
And thats the last time I'mma remind y'all
Next time I'm creepin up in something behind y'all

[Chorus]
It's the life
Just livin it right
Shoot first and don't think twice
And homey if the price is right
n*ggas'll get at you
Bout who draw the fastest
Casket or the ashes
[Young Neef]
Yo it's lovely when you squeezin them
Ugly when you receivin them
And ya peeps goin crazy in the receiving room
A gun like a lung you gon need more than one
This for every block in te ghetto from where I'm from
I started off a 9 or 10 runnin with my step-pop
Learn how to collect from n*ggas and set up shizzop
Never buy hard from him, I learned to cook rock
Summer time blizzock, winter time shizzop
Let a smoker rum 'em in
All they want is 3 for 10
Give up that password before you get the f*ck in
'Fore we get the buckin
Leave 'em where they stand at
Respect we demand that
Now tell me where them grams at
Stack rubberband wrapped the street still in me
Got me a squadda with a driver, a souped up hemi
Be happy you in my presence I can't give you a penny
Cause this n*gga only tough when that sh*t's up in em
n*gga

[Chorus]

[Pooda Brown]
Yea ain't nothin soft about me
But n*ggas they doubt me
So I'mma have to run through they alley
Get red off of they bount me
Toss the gun n*gga I'm outtie
But n*gga I'm rowdie
But common sense plays a bigger part of me
I'm Pookie when it comes to the Uzi
I just be callin me
(Mr. Brown) Not Bobby, Foxy, or Nino
It's Pooda baby the Ruger baby'll clean the scene though
Excuse me ladies don't do it lately
But I'm doin my thing though
The crib 24 hours n*gga the hook a seno
You lil n*gga soft till that ' nana empty
And he not dead dot on his head like he a Indian
It's trainin day n*gga wake up early
For we be in ya crib burners wake up Shirley
Cabinets and the bed n*gga check that thoroughly
I need that cooked up cookie homie
And that story
Whooo
[Chorus] - 2X