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 'til 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 whole purpose is to lock us down?
An' throw away the key, but without drug shit
Your kids got no way to eat

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

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

We gotta raise our kids while we
Make a off a record, bail my niggaz outta prison
a Bentley or a Lexus, just my boys in the squadder
Nigga talk reckless, then I hit 'em the Smif an'

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

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

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

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

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

Man, get 'em Free
Hove never slackin', man, zippin' in the black
Faster than the red ghost, ghost wit' Pac, man
One time, know a got a knack to get that
of the black gang, ROC, man

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

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

Know B. in the third lane
Gramps prayin', workin' on my nerves, man
Like, "Son you gotta get soul clean
Before blow them horns like Coltrane"

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

Shit, I'll probably be wylin' with their
Tell Ms. Robert, Enijah that I'm ridin' for her father
That's like my brother, like same mother, father
Any Dog, know I got 'em

An' still we grind from the
Just to make it to the bottom, crack in the alleyways
Still gave back Marcy 'A Dollar
Real gangstas hood holidays

They thank us but we still paid homage, man
Food Sunday, lookin' like Big Momma's, man
Tell the I never break my promise, man, man

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