Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song What We Do, artist - Freeway. Album song Philadelphia Freeway, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
What We Do |
Man if I get rocked, this shit for my kids nigga |
It’s that real shit… |
(female singer, repeated throughout the verses) |
We still hustle 'til the sun come up Crack a 40 when the sun go down |
It’s a cold winter |
Y’all niggaz better bundle up And I bet it be a hotter summer, grab a onion |
Yes the ROC gets down, you hot now, listen up Don’t you know cops’whole purpose is to lock us down? |
And throw away the key |
But without this drug shit your kids ain’t got no way to eat, huh? |
We still try to keep Mom… smilin'… |
Cuz when the teeth stop showin’and the stomach start growlin' |
Then the heat start flowin' |
If you from the hood I know you feel me (Jay-Z: Keep goin'…) |
If a sneak start leanin’and the heat stop workin' |
Then my heat start workin’I’m-a rob me a person |
Catch a nigga sleepin’while he out in the open… and I’m-a get him (Jay-Z: |
Keep flowin'…) |
We gotta raise our kids while we livin' |
Make a million off-a record bail my niggaz outta prison |
Fuck a Bentley or a Lexus just my boys in the squadder |
Nigga talk reckless then I hit 'em with the Smif 'n… |
But I’m never snitchin’I’m a rider |
If my kids hungry snatch the dishes out ya kitchen |
I’ll be wylin’til they pick me outta line-up… |
We keep the nines tucked, chopped dimes up, rap about it Wyle out, fuck niggaz up, laugh about it |
I’m not tryin’to visit the morgue but Freeway move out 'til I sit with the Lord |
'Til I… get my shit together, clean up my sins |
Freeway got it in like 10 in the mornin' |
And I can get it to ya like 10 while you yawnin’mang… |
Still deliver the order mang! |
And I ain’t talkin’bout chicken and gravy mang! |
I’m talkin’bout bricks 'o ye-yo, halves and quarters |
4 and a halves of hash you do the math |
Swing past us scoop up your daughter |
She wanna roll wit’a thug that rap, you do the math |
He won’t blast 'til my stacks in order mang! |
…MANG! |
Lemme get 'em Free |
Hove never slackin’mang, zippin’in the black Range |
Faster than the red ghost, gettin’ghost wit’Pac-Mang |
One-time know a got a knack to get that change |
Leader of the black gang, R-O-C mang |
Bang like T-Mac, ski mask air it out |
Gotta kill witnesses 'cause Free’s beard’s stickin’out |
Y’all don’t want no witness shit, we squeeze hammers mang |
Bullets breeze by you, like Lousiana mang… |
But I gotta feed Tianna mang… |
So I move keys you can call me the Piano Man |
Rain… sleet, hail… snow man |
Slang dough, E, hydro man… |
…no, B. Sige in the third lane |
Gramps still prayin’workin on my nerves man… |
Like, Son you gotta get your soul clean… |
Before they blow them horns like Coltrane… |
But still I cry tears of a hustler |
Wipe tears from my mother, pull out beers for her brothers… |
That’s above us, make beds for the babies |
Tuck kids under covers, buy cribs for their mothers |
Shit I’ll probably be wylin’with their fathers |
Tell Ms. Robert, tell Enijah that I’m ridin’for her father |
That’s like my brother, like same mother different father |
Any problems dog know I got 'em |
And still we grind from the bottom |
Just to make it to the bottom sold crack in the alleyways |
Still gave back Marcy a Dollar Day |
Real gangstas make hood holidays |
They ain’t thank us but we still paid homage mang |
Soul Food Sunday lookin’like Big Momma’s mang |
Tell the gang I never break my promise mang… mang…unnh! |