Do What I Do (feat. Z-Ro, Nas & Rick Ross)

I am ghetto, boy, chilling Represent for the ni**as in the hood and how they living Heavy metal concealing Hustling til you touch a 9 to 5 of drug dealing It don't matter how I get it, I got it, f**k feelings I don't have none, I'm bout my paper, ni**a, ask em Don't get confused on how the cash come Never, by any means necessary better Get up off your ass and get my money fore I stretch yah Out in front your doorstep, when I brandish this .45th You can make arrangements, you a dead man, a ghost See I come from them cuts for real Much long before this rap came, f**k the deal I survived the game of life, ni**a, f**k some skills Crossing me, get in the way, this pu**y must get killed I'm alive, he came, he bust til he left I would have made for sure I was dead and f**k yourself Yeah, cause now I'm at his ass in a vengeance Blood in, blood out from the beginning to the ending Real s**t being spit, know your limits It's best you mind your mothaf**king business If you ain't in it () So hard in these streets Gotta pack a pistol plus talk to God in these streets Go to church, Sunday, Monday, selling raw in these streets Never took it home though, I left it all in these streets Gotta do what I gotta do I ain't promoting no eviction notice on the door F**k it, I had to go for broke Do what I gotta do Hustle til I see the dirt Risking 25 years just to see another verse (2 – Rick Ross) I was all alone, car full of ni**as How'd I get here? Car full of hittas I was rolling weed, they was snorting blow Such a cool breeze, heart so cold Step up to the plate, where your money at? Bobby Brown on cake with a hundred packs New editions, Lisa Lisa We were secret lovers, had to get a beeper My Atlantic star, not a Notre Dame Not a student loan, tried to motivate Continental, my Bentley, this s**t should be illegal Selassie eye in the ghost, thousand bales of that diesel Lord, go toe to toe with any pu**y boy F**k, one time for facing all the Boobie boys 26 inch plates on a 68 Where I'm from a half a key'll set a ni**a straight I just wanna make the car notes Let mama make the pot roast You should meet me at the car wash Washing all 8, that's inshallah (Repeat) (3 – Nas) Speaking for those squeaking in them cell blocks reading To blacks, whites and Puerto Ricans Brothers with those ankle bracelets, impatient for their releasing To make it back to the block, the hatred, the priest hit Time sure flies, look how many years went by My young ni**as already need hair dye Alcoholic faces, women bad as a mug Getting fat as f**k Fried food be adding up, the system thrives off its victims They ask how this economic collapse Can affect people all over the map Tea party for tax reenactment is whack The past the past, yo, to my vatos out in the East Los Nietas on the east coast, shouts to Puerto Rico Dominican Republic people, rep I Brown and black, we must get it together The prison industrial complex a f**king set up The Aztec, almac, African settled on this land from the get up I changed my aim, who I'm gon wet up When violence is resorted, knowledge is distorted Unless it's payback for brutality I'm more or less with that, get back