[Killah Hills intro features RZA, Ol Dirty Bastard, and "Grey Ghost"]
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(...the skill of Shaolin)
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RZA: Yes the good life, you know *clinks glass*
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GZA: What the fuck is that, hell's angels?
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*Ol Dirty singing in the background*
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[Ahh Mr. Bobby Steels, Tony Starks on line one for Mr. Bobby Steels]
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RZA: Steels over here, Steels over here
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Peace, Starks what's going on baby?
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Yeah everything is lovely over here.
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GZA: No shoes and no shirt on, sure the hills is where it's at?
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RZA: Yeah the, the Maximillion is sure here
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I'm over here with Noodles and I got Lucky Hands with me
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GZA: You got soul, R&B, classics? All that shit right?
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RZA: Yeah... Grey Ghost right in front of me right now
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Grey Ghost standing right here.
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Yeah he has a briefcase; ohh, OK, OK I got you.
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Aight thanks. *phone clicks*
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GGh: Bobby Steels.
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GZA: Huh?
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RZA: Mr. Grey Ghost, good to see you good to see you good to see you.
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GGh: A pleasure.
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RZA: So is everything OK, is everything working as we planned?
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GGh: Everything is working out, very nicely.
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Do you have the cash, twenty-thousand dollars?
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GZA: Be nice to have a little breeze.
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Breeze on by fuck the cops.
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RZA: Do we have the cash? We don't have to talk that, hey hey
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GZA: Get the fuck outta here with that hell's angels bullshit!
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RZA: We got the cash we know Cash Rules Everything Around this Motherfucker
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Umm, let me ask you...
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GZA: The fuck outta here!
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GGh: Do you have the full amount? Twenty thousand as we agreed upon?
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GZA: Fucking hell's bastards.
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RZA: Let me ask you a question Mr. Grey Ghost --
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Do you know a a Don Rodriguez?
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GGh: I know no such person.
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RZA: Don Rodriguez from the Bronx? Don Rodriguez?
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GGh: I don't know who you're talking about.
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RZA: I think you do know him cause your fuckin friend Don
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is down at one-twenty precinct right now singing
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his fuckin ass like a fuckin bird.
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GZA: Life of a drug dealer
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RZA: The fuckin guys is comin
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GGh: Do you believe him?
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Killah hills 10304
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Restaurants on a stake-out
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So order the food to take out
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Chaos, outside a spark steakhouse
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Maintain the power, I feel the deal's gone sour
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Nigga Mr. Wedding, late a fuckin half hour
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And his man who bought land from Tony Starks
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While he was contractin bricklayin jobs in city parks
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he's a loan shark, bitches raise a grand to a finger
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In a garment that's stretched, got it sewn like Singer
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Cause all that talk blasphemy this kid after me
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for the heist, in a Burlington Coat Factory
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Fuck it, he turned snake so my nigga Cash stole his copilot
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who used to drive like sacks of blow on this remote
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area, we label Dead Man's Island
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Two hundred miles South from Thailand
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Right off the docks, I got the various custom made yachts
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Burial plots, for my niggaz hit with fatal shots
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There's no need for us to spray up the scene
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I use less men, more powerful shit for my team
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Like my man Muhammad from Afghanistan
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Grew up in Iran, the nigga runs a neighborhood newsstand
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A wild Middle Eastern, bomb specialist
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Intiated, at eleven to be a terrorist
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He set bombs in bottles of champagne
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And when niggaz popped the cork, niggaz lost half they brains
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Like this ex-worker, tried to smuggle a half a key
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in his left leg, even underwent surgery
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They say his pirate limp gave him away
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As the feds rushed him, comin through U.S. Customs
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Now look whose on the witness stand singin, a well known soprano
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A smash hit from Sammy Gravano
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here's the plan minimum for the hit, two hundred grand
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Half time at the game blastin niggaz out the stands
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The sharp-shooters hit the prosecutor, judges are sent
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Photographs of they wives takin baths
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Along with briefcase filled with one point five, that's the bribe
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Take it or commit suicide
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First rule, anyone who schemes on the gold in Syria
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I want they small intestines ripped from the interior
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I got a price for those jewels, ship em freight cargo
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Don't forget to launder the cream through Wells Fargo
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Reconstruct those processin plants for the call of Costa Rica
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Four hundred barrels of et |