Luyện nghe bài hát What We Do

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

Even though what we do is

We still hustle the sun come up
Crack a 40 the sun go down
It's a winter, y'all 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 this drug
Your ain't got no way to eat

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

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

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

But I'm never snitchin', I'm a
If my hungry, snatch the dishes out ya kitchen
be wylin' til they pick me outta line up

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

I get my shit 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

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

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

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

like T-Mac, ski mask, air it out
Gotta kill 'cause Free's beard's stickin' out
Y'all don't want no witness shit, we hammers, man
Bullets breeze by you, 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 your soul
Before they blow them like Coltrane"

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

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

An' we grind from the bottom
Just to make it to the bottom, sold crack in the
Still back Marcy 'A Dollar Day'
gangstas make hood holidays

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

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