Yeah, it's the good life, you know
Fuck is that, Hell's Angels?
(Ah, Mr. Bobby Steels,
Tony Starks on line one for Mr. Bobby Steels)
Steels over here, Steels over here
Peace, Starks what's going on, baby?
Yeah, everything is lovely over here
Yeah, the Maximillion is sure
I'm over here with Noodles and I got Lucky Hands with me
She got soul, R&B, classics? All that shit right?
Yeah, yeah, Greco is right in front of me right now
Greco is standing right here
Yeah, he has a briefcase
Oh, okay, okay, I got you, aight, thanks
Bobby Steels
Mr. Greco, good to see you,
good to see you, good to see you
A pleasure
So is everything okay,
is everything working as we planned?
Everything is working out, very nicely
Do you have the cash, twenty-thousand dollars?
Do we have the cash?
We don't have to talk that, hey, hey
Get the fuck outta here with that Hell's Angels bullshit
Look, we got the cash
We know Cash Rules
Everything Around this motherfucker
Fuck outta here
Um, let me ask you
Do you have the full amount?
Twenty thousand as we agreed upon?
Fucking Hells bastards
Let me ask you a question, Mr. Greco
Do you know a a Don Rodriguez?
I know no such person
Don Rodriguez from the Bronx? Don Rodriguez?
Don't know who you're talking about
I think you do know him
because your fuckin' friend Don
Is down at 120 Precinct right now
Singing his fucking ass like a fucking bird
Life of a drug dealer
The fuckin' guys is coming
Do you believe him?
Killah Hills 10304
Restaurants on a stakeout, so order the food to take out
Chaos, outside a Sparks Steak House
Maintain the power, I feel the deal's gone sour
Nigga missed the wedding, late a fucking half-hour
And his man who bought land from Tony Starks
While he was contractin' bricklaying jobs in city parks
He's a loan shark, interest rates 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 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 ki 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 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' 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 the 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, 10304
The saga continues