Luyện nghe bài hát What We Do

Man, if I get rocked, shit for my kids, nigga
It's that real

Even though we do is wrong

We still hustle the sun come up
Crack a 40 the sun go down
It's a cold winter, niggaz better bundle up
An' I bet it be a hotter summer, a onion

Yes, the ROC gets down, you hot now, up
Don't you know cops' whole purpose is to lock us
An' throw away the key, but without drug shit
kids ain't got no way to eat

We try to keep Mom smilin'
'Cuz the teeth stop showin'
An' the start growlin', then the heat start flowin'
If you from the hood, I know you feel me, keep

If a start leanin' an' the heat stop workin'
Then my start workin', I'ma rob me a person
Catch a nigga sleepin' while he out in the
An' I'ma get him, keep

We gotta raise our while we livin'
Make a million off a record, bail my niggaz prison
Fuck a Bentley or a Lexus, just my in the squadder
Nigga reckless, then I hit 'em with the Smif an'

But I'm snitchin', I'm a rider
If my kids hungry, snatch the dishes out ya
I'll be wylin' til they pick me outta up

We keep the nines tucked, dimes up, rap about it
Wyle out, fuck up, laugh about it
I'm not tryin' to the morgue
But Freeway out 'til I sit with the Lord

I get my shit together, clean up my sins
Freeway got it in like 10 in the
An' I can get it to ya like 10 you yawnin', man

deliver the order, man
An' I ain't talkin' 'bout an' gravy, man
I'm talkin' 'bout 'o ye yo, halves an' quarters
4 an' a of hash, you do the math

Swing past us, up your daughter
She wanna roll wit' a thug that rap, you do the
He won't blast 'til my stacks in

Man, lemme get 'em
Hove slackin', man, zippin' in the black Range
than the red ghost, gettin' ghost wit' Pac, man
One time, a got a knack to get that change
Leader of the gang, ROC, man

Bang T-Mac, ski mask, air it out
kill witnesses 'cause Free's beard's stickin' out
Y'all want no witness shit, we squeeze hammers, man
Bullets by you, like Louisiana, man

But I gotta Tianna, man
So I move keys, you can call me the Man
Rain, sleet, hail, snow, man
dough, E, hydro, man

Know B. Sige in the lane
still prayin', workin' on my nerves, man
Like, "Son you gotta get your clean
they blow them horns like Coltrane"

But I cry tears of a hustler
tears from my mother, pull out beers for her brothers
That's above us, make for the babies
Tuck under covers, buy cribs for their mothers

Shit, I'll be wylin' with their fathers
Tell Ms. Robert, tell Enijah I'm ridin' for her father
That's like my brother, like mother, different father
Any problems? Dog, I got 'em

An' still we grind the bottom
Just to make it to the bottom, sold crack in the
Still gave Marcy 'A Dollar Day'
Real gangstas make holidays

They ain't thank us but we still homage, man
Soul Food Sunday, like Big Momma's, man
Tell the I never break my promise, man, man

Even though we do is wrong
though what we do is wrong