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

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