[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