(feat. Begetz, Half-A-Mil) [AZ intro] Yea Devine Intervention Miliato, Begetz, AZ Quiet Money Presents. [Half-A-Mil] (R.I.P.) Now the twin towers done blew up niggaz seen the footage and threw up I got platinum bullets for y'all to chew up Mil-latin the dog done grew up is it still Manhatten I speak street slang arab-a-latin my gunz speak rat-a-ta-in understand my lingo I'm from Albany Afganistan fuck Chris Cringo and Christopher Columbus I'll shoot scud missles through his kango and spray z gas on ya faggot ass Allah you akba, make 767's crash smack Jesus Christ and smoke a half a pound of hash I keep a half a pound of cash I thought I told you cats I'm not a rapper rock a G on my chest that stands for god fuck Dan I'm dapper prada from head to toe dollars, cherries in the moe you fake ass pimps, get my chips so I'm burying you and your hoes I plant plutonium bombs after each and every show so every artist you sign is guaranteed to blow I'm guaranteed to flow puffin that magic weed knowledge itself nigga that's what you need so fuck you and those crabs that you feed, tell 'em holla at me [Chorus] New York New York with blood in your ice put numbers on your head killa name your price we gets love where ever we go cause the street life is all we know It's all we know [Begetz] I work for a quarter million in dope a million dollars in cash 1.5 under the bathroom stash put that little ass gun away nigga step up your murder game still fuckin wit weed step up to heroine cardiay diamond links no more gold chains vertical doors, candy paint, and woodgrain I'm the one to watch niggaz don't cover your eyes so many eyes on my watch got 'em hypnotized fuckin with hustlers ballin like rap niggaz, throwin money in the air screemin I ain't gotta rap niggaz the 9 m & m ain't sweet like candy got mines on me front row with a grammy slugs on the left and lust on the right fuck an award boo we'll take you home tonight milli gates in the spyder with the glass roof damn near crashed in valet off that over proofed shit, we drunk [Chorus x2] [AZ] I got one son, two guns, a couple of cribs just tryin to live fuck gettin stuck with a bid niggaz I fuck with now used to fuck with his kids slim dude food never stuck to my ribs been tried on occasions I lie with persuasion hustled out of town nearly died in a Days Inn breezed on a turnpike received then returned kites cold D to O.G homie nigga earn strikes burnt mics left 'em there to sizzle for shizzle you know the dizzle my nizzle I'm so visual all jewels tiz you paid dues true to the grizzle blew a few mil and still official BIG we still miss you the games real fical It's two thou and a nickel nigga trying to go triple until I'm there wit you a wheel chair cripple It's no secret I'm a keep it popin like a pistol [Chorus x2]
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