Killah Hills 10304

[Intro: RZA, GZA, Masta Killa, and Mr. Greco]

(...the skill of Shaolin)

RZA: Yes the good life, you know *clinks glass*

GZA: What the fuck is that, hell's angels?

MKa: Ahh Mr. Bobby Steels, Tony Starks on line one for Mr. Bobby Steels

RZA: Steels over here, Steels over here

Peace, Starks what's going on baby?

Yeah everything is lovely over here.

GZA: No shoes and no shirt on, sure the hills is where it's at?

RZA: Yeah the, the Maximillion is sure here

I'm over here with Noodles and I got Lucky Hands with me

GZA: You got soul, R&B, classics? All that shit right?

RZA: Yeah... Greco right in front of me right now

Greco standing right here.

Yeah he has a briefcase; ohh, OK, OK I got you.

Aight thanks. *phone clicks*

GGh: Bobby Steels.

GZA: Huh?

RZA: Mr. Greco, good to see you good to see you good to see you.

GGh: A pleasure.

RZA: So is everything OK, is everything working as we planned?

GGh: Everything is working out, very nicely.

Do you have the cash, twenty-thousand dollars?

GZA: Be nice to have a little breeze.

Breeze on by fuck the cops.

RZA: Do we have the cash? We don't have to talk that, hey hey

GZA: Get the fuck outta here with that hell's angels bullshit!

RZA: We got the cash we know Cash Rules Everything Around this Motherfucker

Umm, let me ask you...

GZA: The fuck outta here!

GGh: Do you have the full amount? Twenty thousand as we agreed upon?

GZA: Fucking hell's bastards.

RZA: Let me ask you a question Mr. Greco --

Do you know a a Don Rodriguez?

GGh: I know no such person.

RZA: Don Rodriguez from the Bronx? Don Rodriguez?

GGh: I don't know who you're talking about.

RZA: I think you do know him cause your fuckin friend Don

is down at one-twenty precinct right now singing

his fuckin ass like a fuckin bird.

GZA: Life of a drug dealer

RZA: The fuckin guys is comin

GGh: Do you believe him?

*beat drops*

[GZA]

Killah hills 10304

Restaurants on a stake-out

So order the food to take out

Chaos, outside Spar's steakhouse

Maintain the power, I feel the deal's gone sour

Nigga Mr. Wedding, late a fuckin half hour

And his man who bought land from Tony Starks

While he was contractin bricklayin jobs in city parks

he's a loan shark, bitches raise a grand to a finger

In a garment that's stretched, got it sewn like Singer

Cause all that talk blasphemy this kid after me

for the heist, in a Burlington Coat Factory

Fuck it, he turned snake so my nigga Cash stole his copilot

who used to drive like sacks of blow on this remote

area, we label Dead Man's Island

Two hundred miles South from Thailand

Right off the docks, I got the various custom made yachts

Burial plots, for my niggaz hit with fatal shots

There's no need for us to spray up the scene

I use less men, more powerful shit for my team

Like my man Muhammad from Afghanistan

Grew up in Iran, the nigga runs a neighborhood newsstand

A wild Middle Eastern, bomb specialist

Intiated, at eleven to be a terrorist

He set bombs in bottles of champagne

And when niggaz popped the cork, niggaz lost half they brains

Like this ex-worker, tried to smuggle a half a key

in his left leg, even underwent surgery

They say his pirate limp gave him away

As the feds rushed him, comin through U.S. Customs

Now look whose on the witness stand singin, a well known soprano

A smash hit from Sammy Gravano

here's the plan minimum for the hit, two hundred grand

Half time at the game blastin niggaz out the stands

The sharp-shooters hit the prosecutor, judges are sent

Photographs of they wives takin baths

Along with briefcase filled with one point five, that's the bribe

Take it or commit suicide

First rule, anyone who schemes on the gold in Syria

I want they small intestines ripped from the interior

I got a price for those jewels, ship em freight cargo

Don't forget to launder the cream through Wells Fargo

Ricans processing for the call of Costa Rica

Four hundred barrels of ether

Two hundred pounds of reefer

and fifty immigrants with fake Visas

Life of a drug dealer

Killah hills, 10304

The saga continues