Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song What We Do, artist - Mac Dre. Album song The Rompalation, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 05.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Thizz Nation
Song language: English
What We Do |
| Ay, check this out, right, who we got in here, cuddie? |
| We got the Romper muthafuckin' Room in this muthafucka |
| Crew Thang and the Five-Trey-Fizzive |
| Strictly SES, straight from the muthafuckin' Crest |
| That’s right. |
| Mac muthafuckin' Dre is in this |
| Coolio, you know, Da’Unda’Dogg |
| That’s right. |
| Mac muthafuckin' Mall |
| And the Sugawolf Pizzimp |
| Not the pimp… what about PSD a/k/a Stevie D, bitch |
| Oh, y’all didn’t know? |
| This is what we do… |
| My lyrical flow got me dwellin' up on the past |
| Servin' ‘em on that ass, gettin' my cash, comin' up fast |
| And’ll blast you in a minute, drama, quick to jump up in it |
| So end it ‘fore you begin it ‘cause I’m down to represent it |
| And’ll send you higher to your Messiah once I open fire |
| At your own desire I’ll flat you like a tire |
| Wire me a kite if you full of fright, that electric sight |
| Ain’t no joke, niggas be comin' up short thinkin' they gonna fight |
| Talkin' about that weed, servin ‘em sacks of indo; |
| what you need? |
| All of my homies keyed, niggas free from the life of greed |
| Twisted up on the mixes, won’t you fix us niggas somethin' to drank |
| Can’t get enough dizank up out the bizank, got put in my tank |
| Bitches be wantin' my riches and they bitches, man, be jockin' my switches |
| Pullin' around my riches which is cool |
| Because I get ‘em, and then I hit ‘em |
| You see this what we do when we doin' what we do |
| She wants to get married but I ain’t and I cain’t |
| ‘Cause I’m sprung on my muthafuckin' dank and some drank |
| I got a fat bank, huh, and still break hoes |
| And if your bitch gets to jockin', I will break yours |
| The Mac named Dre from the C-R-E-S-T |
| Ask about a nigga and they all would say ‘Yes, he’s the shizit' |
| I gizit, much pussy on my dizick |
| Never would I lizick or pay like a trizick |
| I’m like that, potna, I thought you heard |
| Fuckin' with your brain like some Thunderbird |
| I’m doper than a joint of that potent dank |
| And funky like the county jail holding tank |
| Romper, Room, crew for life |
| If I thrust ya once, hoe, I’mma thrust ya twice |
| What is I’m sayin' on this microphone |
| I get Romped out when my mic is on |
| I make the Statue of Liberty get freaky |
| Scoot her panties over, play with her pussy |
| Make her pay me to jook me |
| Playa playa, oh hell yeah, motive be to skeet her |
| Menage a trois, you, her and I, bubble while you G her, yeah |
| A Crew Thang nigga keepin' it real |
| Up against it with my protégés reachin' for mills |
| We puts the pussy-whip in ill fashion |
| And bend a corner hella squatted with that skrill flashin' |
| (What you squattin'?) A Mitsubishi, 2-triple-zero GT |
| VR 4, Nike shoe to the floor |
| If it’s not relatable to dollars I can’t holla |
| Tryna prosper, turnin' down nothin' but collars |
| That’s what we wantin', hutch, I strut with a limp |
| Through the party off Bacardi with the Shug’Wolf Pimp, ugh |
| PS to TS, Country Club Creezest |
| We just gon' tear the roof off this bitch |
| Now it’s the hog in your dog speakin' once more |
| Crestsidin' through the door, and pimp a hoe more |
| Than them hoes they be frozen, jockin' on a player |
| Hollerin' ‘Pimp ‘til I die, runnin' game like the mayor' |
| Extreme heavy hustler, stack a chip fiend |
| In the game of the big dogs, mutts and the fleas |
| But G’s like me, we pimp and don’t slack |
| Stack G’s for my neez, fetti fiend for the scratch |
| Bitch, I’m hustlin' hard |
| So now they wanna put the Mac down and bogard |
| But I won’t let ‘em, known to sweat ‘em for the green when I mack |
| ‘Cause I hound dog hoes and sho' won’t slack |
| It’s SugaWolf Pimp in me |
| Nothin' but the muthafuckin' Mark Street G |
| Servin' this game like a thang of the ‘caine somethin' serious |
| Comin' like dick, mayne, flowin' like a period |
| 1:40 in the morning, Brougham reekin' of the rope, see |
| All my cuddies high and so am I so peep game I be bold |
| These hoes is on some muthafuckin' alien shit |
| But me and Kill-a-Hoe won’t peel a hoe, push her off a cliff |
| Ripped off Hennessy, trick bitch, I’ll slap ya head off |
| And if your nigga move, Crestsiders gon' dump that lead off |
| Your man is a midget, he like to floss and trick bread off |
| But hoe I’m from the North and fa sho' you gotta get off |
| See I’m a third generation Mac |
| I like my hoes hella thick like the trunk on my Cadillac |
| But bitches on me like Prozac |
| Oh, you didn’t know that little hoe was sessed out like that? |
| Bitch, I thought you knew |
| Comin' straight from the Crest, this is what we do |