Luyện nghe bài hát What We Do

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

though what we do is wrong

We still hustle 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
Don't you know cops' whole purpose is to lock us
An' throw the key, but without this drug shit
Your ain't got no way to eat

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

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

We gotta raise our kids while we
Make a million off a record, bail my niggaz outta
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 out ya kitchen
I'll be wylin' til they pick me line up

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

'Til I get my shit together, up my sins
got it in like 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 talkin' 'bout 'o ye yo, halves an' quarters
4 an' a halves of hash, you do the

Swing past us, up your daughter
She roll wit' a thug that 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, gettin' wit' Pac, man
One time, know a got a to get that change
of the black gang, ROC, man

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

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

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

But still I cry of a hustler
Wipe tears from my mother, out beers for her brothers
above us, make 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 like my brother, like same mother, father
Any problems? Dog, I got 'em

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

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

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