Luyện nghe bài hát What We Do

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

though what we do is wrong

We hustle 'til the sun come up
a 40 when the sun go down
It's a winter, y'all niggaz better bundle up
An' I bet it be a summer, grab a onion

Yes, the ROC gets down, you hot now, up
you know cops' whole purpose is to lock us down?
An' throw away the key, but without this shit
Your kids got no way to eat

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

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

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
talk 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 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 visit the
But Freeway move out 'til I sit 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 10 while you yawnin', man

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

past us, scoop 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 never slackin', man, in the black Range
Faster than the red ghost, gettin' wit' Pac, man
One time, a got a knack to get that change
Leader of the gang, ROC, man

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

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

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

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

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

An' still we from the bottom
Just to make it to the bottom, sold in the alleyways
Still gave back Marcy 'A Day'
Real gangstas make hood

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 what we do is
Even what we do is wrong