Produced by Just Blaze
Directed by Nzingha Stewart
Philadelphia Freeway ℗ 2002 UMG Recordings, Inc.


Lyrics:
[Intro: Freeway]
Man if I get rocked, this shit for my kids nigga
It's that real shit (Even though what we do is wrong)

[Verse 1: Freeway & Jay-Z]
We still hustle 'til the sun come up
Crack a 40 when the sun go down
It's a cold winter, y'all niggas better bundle up
And I bet it be a hotter summer, grab a onion just to rock it down
You hot now, listen up
Don't you know cops' sole purpose is to lock us down?
And throw away the key
But without this drug shit, your kids ain't got no way to eat, huh?
We still try to keep mom, smilin'
Cause when her teeth stop showin'
And her stomach start growlin' then the heat start flowin'
If you from the hood, I know you feel me (Keep goin')
If a sneak start leaning and the heat stop workin'
Then my heat start working, I'ma rob me a person
Catch a nigga sleeping while he out in the open
And I'ma get him (Keep flowin')
We gotta raise our kids while we livin'
Make a million off a record, bail my niggas outta prison
Fuck a Bentley or a Lexus, just my boys in the squadder
Nigga talk reckless then I hit 'em with the Smith 'n
But I'm never snitching, I'm a rider
If my kids hungry, snatch the dishes out ya kitchen
I'll be wilding 'til they pick me out a line-up
Even though what we do is wrong
We keep the nines tucked, chopped dimes up, rap about it
Wild out, fuck niggas up, laugh about it
I'm not tryna visit the morgue
But Freeway move out 'til I sit with the Lord
'Til I, get my shit together, clean up my sins
Freeway got it in like 10 in the morning
And I can get it to ya like 10 while you yawning mang
Even though what we do is wrong
Still deliver the order mang
And I ain't talking 'bout chicken and gravy mang
I'm talking bout bricks of yayo, halves and quarters
Fou and a halves of hash, you do the math
Swing past us, scoop up your daughter
She wanna roll with a thug that rap, you do the math
He gon' blast 'til my stacks in order mang!

[Verse 2: Jay-Z]
Mang, let me get 'em Free
Hov never slacking mang, zipping in the black Range
Faster than the red ghost, getting ghost with Pac-Man
One-time know I got a knack to get that change
Leader of the black gang, R-O-C mang
Bang like T-Mac, ski mask, air it out
Gotta kill witnesses 'cause Free's beard's sticking out
Y'all don't want to witness shit, we squeeze hammers mang
Bullets breeze by you, like Louisiana mang
But I gotta feed Tianna mang
So I move keys, you can call me the Piano Man
Rain, sleet, hail, snow man
Slang dope, E, hydro man

[Verse 3: Beanie Sigel]
You, know, B. Sige' in the third lane
Gramps still praying, working on my nerves man
Like, "Son you gotta get your soul clean
Before they blow them horns like Coltrane"
But still I cry tears of a hustler
Wipe tears from my mother, pour out beers for our brothers
That's above us, make beds for the babies
Tuck kids under covers, buy cribs for their mothers
Shit, I'll probably be wilding with their fathers
Tell Ms. Robert, tell Anajmah that I'm riding for her father
That's like my brother, like same mother, different father
Any problems dawg, know I got 'em
And still we grind from the bottom
Just to make it to the bottom, sold crack in the alleyways
Still gave back Marcy on Dollar Day
Real gangstas make hood holidays
They ain't thank us but we still paid homage mang
Soul Food Sunday looking like Big Momma's mang
Tell the gang I never break my promise mang
Mang, uhh!
[Outro]
Even though what we do is wrong
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong
Even though what we do is wrong
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong

Producer: Just Blaze
Studio Personnel, Recording Engineer, Mixer: Gimel "Young Guru" Keaton
Composer Lyricist: Leslie Pridgen
Composer Lyricist: Justin Smith
Composer Lyricist: Shawn Carter
Composer Lyricist: Dwight Grant
Composer Lyricist: S. Scarborough