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Artist: Scarface f/ Nas, Rick Ross, Z-Ro
Album:  Deeply Rooted
Song:   Do What I Do
Typed by: Lil Hustle

I am ghetto boy chilling
Represent for the niggaz in the hood and how they living, heavy metal concealing
Hustle until you touch it, 9 to 5 or drug dealing
It don't matter how I get it I got it, fuck feelings
I don't have none, I'm bout my paper nigga as come
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 ya
Out in front your doorstep, when I brandish this 4-5th
You can make arrangements, you a dead man a ghost yep
See I come from them cuts, for real
Not along before this rap came, fuck the deal
I survived the game of life, nigga fuck some skills
Crossing me in any way, this pussy must get killed
I'm alive, and can't eat bust till you left
I woulda made for sho' I was dead, he fucked his self
Yeah, cause now I'm at his ass with a vengeance
Blood in blood out, from the beginning till the ending
Real shit being spit, know your limits
It's best, you mind your motherfucking bid'ness if you ain't in it

[Chorus: Z-Ro]
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, no I left it all in these streets
Gotta do, what I gotta do
I ain't promoting no addiction notice on the do', fuck it I had to go for broke
Do what I gotta do, hustle till I see the dirt
Risking 25 years, just to see another first

[Rick Ross]
I was all alone, car full of niggaz
How'd I get here, car full of hitters
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 Edition's, Lisa Lisa
We was secret lovers, had to get a beeper
My Atlantic star, not a Notre Dame
Not a Stu Long, time to motivate
Continental my Bentley, this shit should be illegal
Salesian the ghost, thousand bells of that diesel
Go toe to toe, with any pussy boy
One time for Face, and all the moving boards
26 inch plates, on a '68
Where I'm from, a half a key'll set a nigga straight
I just wanna make the car notes
Let mama, make the pot roast
You should meet me, at the car wash
Washing all eight, that's a sha-la


Speaking for those tweaking, in them cell blocks reading
To blacks, whites and Puerto Ricans
Brothers with those ankle bracelets impatient, for they releasing
To make it back to the block, the hatred the priest sent
Time sure flies, look how many years went by
My young niggaz, already need hair dye
Alcoholic faces, women bad as a mug
Getting fat as fuck, fried food be adding up
The system thrives off it's victims, they add to how this economic collapse
Can effect 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
Nietos on the East Coast, shouts to Puerto Rico
Dominican Republic people, weppa
Brown and black, we must get it together
The prison industrial complex, a fucking set up
The ass tat on that 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 less with that get back