Street Life

[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]