What We Do lyrics
Man, if I get rocked, this shit for my kids, niggaIt’s that real shit
Even though what we do is wrong
We still hustle ’til the sun come upCrack a 40 when the sun go downIt’s a cold winter, y’all niggaz better bundle upAn’ I bet it be a hotter summer, grab a onion
Yes, the ROC gets down, you hot now, listen upDon’t you know cops’ whole purpose is to lock us down?An’ throw away the key, but without this drug shitYour 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 personCatch a nigga sleepin’ while he out in the openAn’ I’ma get him, keep flowin’
We gotta raise our kids while we livin’Make a million off a record, bail my niggaz outta prisonFuck a Bentley or a Lexus, just my boys in the squadderNigga talk reckless, then I hit ’em with the Smif an’
But I’m never snitchin’, I’m a riderIf my kids hungry, snatch the dishes out ya kitchenI’ll be wylin’ til they pick me outta line up
We keep the nines tucked, chopped dimes up, rap about itWyle out, fuck niggaz up, laugh about itI’m not tryin’ to visit the morgueBut Freeway move out ’til I sit with the Lord
‘Til I get my shit together, clean up my sinsFreeway 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, manAn’ I ain’t talkin’ ’bout chicken an’ gravy, manI’m talkin’ ’bout bricks ‘o ye yo, halves an’ quarters4 an’ a halves of hash, you do the math
Swing past us, scoop up your daughterShe wanna roll wit’ a thug that rap, you do the mathHe won’t blast ’til my stacks in order
Man, lemme get ’em FreeHove never slackin’, man, zippin’ in the black RangeFaster than the red ghost, gettin’ ghost wit’ Pac, manOne time, know a got a knack to get that changeLeader of the black gang, ROC, man
Bang like T-Mac, ski mask, air it outGotta kill witnesses ’cause Free’s beard’s stickin’ outY’all don’t want no witness shit, we squeeze hammers, manBullets breeze by you, like Louisiana, man
But I gotta feed Tianna, manSo I move keys, you can call me the Piano ManRain, sleet, hail, snow, manSlang dough, E, hydro, man
Know B. Sige in the third laneGramps still prayin’, workin’ on my nerves, manLike, “Son you gotta get your soul cleanBefore they blow them horns like Coltrane”
But still I cry tears of a hustlerWipe tears from my mother, pull out beers for her brothersThat’s above us, make beds for the babiesTuck kids under covers, buy cribs for their mothers
Shit, I’ll probably be wylin’ with their fathersTell Ms. Robert, tell Enijah that I’m ridin’ for her fatherThat’s like my brother, like same mother, different fatherAny problems? Dog, know I got ’em
An’ still we grind from the bottomJust to make it to the bottom, sold crack in the alleywaysStill gave back Marcy ‘A Dollar Day’Real gangstas make hood holidays
They ain’t thank us but we still paid homage, manSoul Food Sunday, lookin’ like Big Momma’s, manTell the gang I never break my promise, man, man
Even though what we do is wrongEven though what we do is wrong