[Killah Hills intro features RZA, Ol Dirty Bastard, and "Grey Ghost"]
(...the skill of Shaolin) RZA: Yes the good life, you know *clinks glass* GZA: What the fuck is that, hell's angels? *Ol Dirty singing in the background* [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... Grey Ghost right in front of me right now Grey Ghost 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. Grey Ghost, 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. Grey Ghost -- 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?
Killah hills 10304
Restaurants on a stake-out So order the food to take out Chaos, outside a spark 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 Reconstruct those processin 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