weed and get mother fucking smoked brother Cut the dumb shit Cuz I run shit You can get harmed when my palms on the gun grip All I want is Millions,
If you try to touch our crew, well reach out and touch you (don't make us) fill you with slugs, for grilling us with your mugs Make doctors fill you with
could a project sell millions Talking 'bout millions, when half their buyers ain't seen a thousand Rhyme skills the dopest, the lyrical style I spit
son There's a million and one ways to die, choose one Hit or miss, it won't matter to peel yo ass I'm still left with a million ways to kill yo ass Now
to these hoes, make these bitches burn Stern, as I handle my grit, talk mo' shit Spit, and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip Don't make me put a lump
lay down and die Give me one good eye to see my influence fly Forever I'll try to wear a genuwine smile Because I've planted my style across a million
to the motherfuckin death Park side, Queen's niggaz represent Long Isle, how we do? They new our style Represent niggaz in and out the P now Yo, I could
[Talking] Y'all can't be serious, this is A-1 performance Your boy wit' the million-dollar vocal chords No more Cristal and DoM P, straight Gatorade
brother nice Not only could we rip and rhyme but backspin and slice With Paris and Foxy and Christina P's bust You know them loud, raunchy, trouble-making
G.A.W.T.T.I. get deflan boss of all dons Always outnumber but never outdone Niggaz don't want to march unless we a million Let me p-funk it Westside and make
Remember fuck around and catch a Mack to your back {Verse Two: Redman} Who the fuck I be I, you cannot see I Flabbergasted, blasted, my Magnum P.I.
We deserve to style, walk on Persian tile On the island with millions, Durst to Al I get cake in layers, not the Daily News But when I flip, I make the
is a masterpiece, my money's still stacking like Master P's Feeling like Mighty Mouse the way I be taking flights to stack the cheese Please, you better not make
on my beecho Theres eight million stories Only six million ways to die Theres two million niggas getting away with crime Theres two million more whack niggas tryin to rhyme Now theres four million
a hustler thing? The man the music the making the king Constantly builded by me A million men marching like Calling them the king kong The verse making
(feat. Bully, Snyp Life, Straw, Styles P) [Styles P:] Straw... 354... Ghost... Feel this... yeah Let me break it down I'ma nigga to Ryde or Die homey
Thing, G-String, Shoe String Point Of View, Hey Lend Me Ya Body, You Got Me In A Zone Bet A Million In A Half Past, I Can Make You Explode You Dont Wanna
Can you feel that? If you really wanna change the game let me hear ya say 'ohh yeah' Haha, I just had to do that once Ay, T-P-T style Jumpin up outta
