Woorden: Half-A-Mil. Da Hustle Don't Stop. Still.

[Intro: Half-A-Mill]
Uh huh, still, yea, yea, yea
Half-A-Mill, uh huh, uh huh
For the hood, yea, millennium style
Uh uh, still, uh yea

[Verse 1]
I peel out ill maneuvers on d's like they could shoot the breeze
I rather shoot through Coupe while only two could squeeze
The name is Gates, ill porch, wit the gangues plates
Computer rise, Rolex different coats gang dates
Sling away from the projects to a greater estate
On some Millennium shit, still spray an eight
Heroin heron, fiends 'nortin to the zero
Methadone clinics is finished since I hit the hood wit 'em kilos
Deadly heart bean-o, straight haze out the purple jars
Double park in front of Tito, dunn my chips lay like Fritos
Ill pimp, chicks take a glipse and turn into freak hoes
I rock Illmatic mostgenos
still at might see me peel ratchets off Tuxedo
Ghetto bastard, metal or plastic, auto reload
Smuggle the guns all across the East Coast

[Chorus x2: Half-A-Mill]
Still gangsta, (still) still ghetto, still street (still)
Still real, still roll wit the heat (still)
Still got bricks for 16, still spit 16 on the beat
Still gettin cream in the street

[Verse 2]
I seen it all, most of y'all niggaz is Mr. Magoo
I sip Cris eat freshly steamed fish from Peru
I always wanted -- a money green six
To match the money Gucci case, get money dunny I'm use to this
Street soldier, shit is real, fuck what he told ya
Cuz he gon' die when the heat get closer
Yesterday I had a meetin wit Sosa
Seven bottles of Belvey, its been 4 years he's seem to get loca
Gutierrez gleam my whole team is eatin the coasta
Uncle Seenos cut your hands off catch ya cheatin the poker
Son we from the slums, Medicaid cart, played in the abandoned cars
Watch dreds sell grams to moms, grew up in time of rock heads
I reminisce on all the block heads, most is locked up or shot dead
All praises is due to the pot heads, and the pit bull niggaz
Who trained dogs to hold the block down and spot feds

[Chorus x2: Half-A-Mill]

[Verse 3]
Minked wit the hoody camouflage jeans
Brooklyn niggaz play the hood deep
Oozy spray the hood up your jeep
Hustle for OT to OC
Out of the country on British Airlines
3 ki's plus a baby monkey, Firm Soprano
Tinted out Suburban, cable TV, satellite dish
10,000 channels, still love the hood, When I was younger
Mama made me stand on the line for butter n thats gutter
Pops nortin off Heroin, one love to the O God
Who took me to Midtown show me how to get on
Snatch pockets wit the left arm, but guessin sean professional don
land a private jet in Brook-lon
Nowadays we livin, stay in the sky like Pigeons
Blue berry haze on stage wit twilight visions
One love for all my dunns doin life in prison
One love to all the rest of 'em who life is missin, but listen

[Chorus x2: Half-A-Mill]

[Outro: Half-A-Mill]
Knawmean? Delaware, DC, yea
still, dirty South, West Coast, all Coast
OT, OC, even out of space, yea, husbands everywhere
they still gon' be here dun, Half-A-Mill-ion, the don
phenomonan one, yea, still