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