What We Do (Album Version (Edited)) ft. JAY-Z & Beanie Sigel – Freeway
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Man, if I get rocked, this shit for my kids, nigga It’s that real shit Even though what we do is wrong We still hustle ’til the sun come up Crack a 40 when the sun go down It’s a cold winter, y’all niggaz better bundle up An’ I bet it be a hotter summer, grab a onion Yes, the ROC gets down, you hot now, listen up Don’t you know cops’ whole purpose is to lock us down? An’ throw away the key, but without this drug shit Your kids ain’t got no way to eat We still try to keep Mom smilin’ ‘Cuz when the teeth stop showin’ An’ the stomach start growlin’, then the heat start flowin’ If you from the hood, I know you feel me, keep goin’ If a sneak start leanin’ an’ the heat stop workin’ Then my heat start workin’, I’ma rob me a person Catch a nigga sleepin’ while he out in the open An’ I’ma get him, keep flowin’ We gotta raise our kids while we livin’ Make a million off a record, bail my niggaz outta prison Fuck a Bentley or a Lexus, just my boys in the squadder Nigga talk reckless, then I hit ’em with the Smif an’ But I’m never snitchin’, I’m a rider If my kids hungry, snatch the dishes out ya kitchen I’ll be wylin’ til they pick me outta line up We keep the nines tucked, chopped dimes up, rap about it Wyle out, fuck niggaz up, laugh about it I’m not tryin’ to visit the morgue But Freeway move out ’til I sit with the Lord ‘Til I get my shit together, clean up my sins Freeway got it in like 10 in the mornin’ An’ I can get it to ya like 10 while you yawnin’, man Still deliver the order, man An’ I ain’t talkin’ ’bout chicken an’ gravy, man I’m talkin’ ’bout bricks ‘o ye yo, halves an’ quarters 4 an’ a halves of hash, you do the math Swing past us, scoop up your daughter She wanna roll wit’ a thug that rap, you do the math He won’t blast ’til my stacks in order Man, lemme get ’em Free Hove never slackin’, man, zippin’ in the black Range Faster than the red ghost, gettin’ ghost wit’ Pac, man One time, know a got a knack to get that change Leader of the black gang, ROC, man Bang like T-Mac, ski mask, air it out Gotta kill witnesses ’cause Free’s beard’s stickin’ out Y’all don’t want no witness shit, we squeeze hammers, man Bullets breeze by you, like Louisiana, man But I gotta feed Tianna, man So I move keys, you can call me the Piano Man Rain, sleet, hail, snow, man Slang dough, E, hydro, man Know B. Sige in the third lane Gramps still prayin’, workin’ on my nerves, man Like, “Son you gotta get your soul clean Before they blow them horns like Coltrane” But still I cry tears of a hustler Wipe tears from my mother, pull out beers for her brothers That’s above us, make beds for the babies Tuck kids under covers, buy cribs for their mothers Shit, I’ll probably be wylin’ with their fathers Tell Ms. Robert, tell Enijah that I’m ridin’ for her father That’s like my brother, like same mother, different father Any problems? Dog, know I got ’em An’ still we grind from the bottom Just to make it to the bottom, sold crack in the alleyways Still gave back Marcy ‘A Dollar Day’ Real gangstas make hood holidays They ain’t thank us but we still paid homage, man Soul Food Sunday, lookin’ like Big Momma’s, man Tell the gang I never break my promise, man, man Even though what we do is wrong Even though what we do is wrong
Source: https://t-tees.com
Category: WHAT
