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