| Yea Devine Intervention
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| Miliato, Begetz, AZ
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| Quiet Money Presents
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| (R.I.P.)
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| Now the twin towers done blew up
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| Niggas 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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| 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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| 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 niggas 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 niggas, throwin money in the air screemin
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| I ain’t gotta rap niggas
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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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| 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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| Niggas 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 fickle
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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 |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Street Life , by - AZ. Song from the album A.W.O.L., in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп