Killah Hills 10304

RZA: Yes the good life, you know
GZA: What the fuck is that, Hells Angels?
MK: Ahh Mr. Bobby Steels, Tony Starks on the 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
Yeah Maximillion didn’t show up yet
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 is right in front of me right now
Greco is standing right here
Yeah he has a briefcase; oh, OK, OK I got you
Aight thanks
DK: Bobby Steels
RZA: Mr. Greco, good to see you good to see you good to see you
DK: A pleasure
RZA: So is everything OK, is everything working as we planned?
DK: Everything is working out, very nicely
Do you have the cash, twenty-thousand dollars?
RZA: Do we have the cash? We don’t have to talk that, hey hey
GZA: Get the fuck outta here with that Hells Angels bullshit!
RZA: We got the cash
You know Cash Rules Everything Around this Motherfucker
Uhm, let me ask you…
GZA: The fuck outta here!
DK: Do you have the full amount? Twenty thousand as we agreed upon?
GZA: Fucking Hells bastards
RZA: Let me ask you a question Mr. Greco…
Do you know a a Don Rodriguez?
DK: I know no such person
RZA: Don Rodriguez from the Bronx? Don Rodriguez?
DK: I don’t know who you’re talking about
RZA: I think you do know him cause your fucking friend Don is down at
One-Twenty Precinct right now singing his fucking ass like a fucking bird
The fucking guys is coming
DK: Do you believe him?
Life of a drug dealer
Killah hills 10 304
Restaurant’s on a stakeout, so order the food to take out
Chaos outside of Sparks Steak House
Maintain the power, I feel the deal’s gone sour
Nigga missed a wedding, late a fucking half-hour
And his man who bought land from Tony Starks
While he was contracting bricklaying jobs in city parks
He’s a loan shark, interest raise a grand to a finger
In the garment district, got it sewn like Singers
'Cause all that talk blasphemy, this kid after me
For the heist, in a Burlington coat factory
Fuck it, he turned state’s on my nigga, Castro, this copilot
Who used to drop rice 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 luxurious, custom-made yachts
Burial plots, for my niggas 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
Initiated at eleven to be a terrorist
He set bombs in bottles of champagne
And when niggas popped the cork—niggas 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, coming through U.S. Customs
Now look whose on the witness stand, singing, 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, blasting niggas out the stands
The sharp-shooters hit the prosecutor, judges are sent
Photographs of they wives taking 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 they interior
I got a price for those jewels, ship 'em freight cargo
Don’t forget to launder the cream through Wells Fargo
Reconstruct those processing plants 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 10 304
The saga continues