Man, I'm chillin' on this jam called "A Million",
Describing the amount I would like to make, and the souls I'd like to see escape,
And stop bearing apples, when they supposed to bear orchards,
At my performances I expose the liar,
Over on lights, shining so bright they come to the gig in sun-visors,
See, I be locked into the Almighty, like symphony B on my MP60, constantly,
I'm taking it to another level,
Not moved to rest when the best call it fresh, but I rest when it satisfies Griff,
So go ahead and react to the track by bobbing their head to what's being said into this mic, which is causing weak emcess to fall like night,
I write like my life depends on it, and it's true.
I'm chillin', trying to make me a million,
Man, I'm chillin', trying to come up on a million,
I'm straight chillin', trying to get me a million bucks.
Now, I wanna make a million bucks, so I come around with the million dollar sound,
But that thought only floats around in the heart of those who think rap is an art,
And I think it is, so I take it personal when I hear a hit jam about three hundred different ways on how to kill a man, or some new car,
You call popular, which is abbreviated pop,
I can't bust like that, you brag about this,
So I take my royalty cheque and invest it in a business, that way I don't have to bow down to some clown in a CNR suit, telling me how to run a hip-hop group, 'cause all he sees is loot,
But not me; I'm too big for just currency,
You purchase rhymes for minds in a state of emergency,
I help you, you help me build up self-esteem,
I'm about positive things man, you know what I'm saying?
I put that on everything I love, man,
Yeah, check it out,
Now, some people get their money the illegal way,
So people get their money legally,
But no matter how you get your money, if you don't know the purpose of it, then that money that you have won't make you happy,
See, I don't love it, I just respect it, so when I collect it, it's all good,
Brothers yelling, "Sell out" because I'm getting outta the hood,
But I don't care; I wants a family, and I ain't about to bring it up around no alcoholics,
Brothers that's gone mad, drug transactions in front of my pad,
Man, that lifestyle be like whack to me,
So I'm down there, help the homies escape,
Bump my grate, unless brothers will sit down and conversate on how we can respect self, then we have that right - to demand it from everyone else,
But that's just a good dream in my world today, like a black president in the USA,
So you take that road, and I'll take this road, where I have a better chance of dying from growing old,
You know what I'm saying, man?
I'm straightchillin', trying to make me a million,
Man, I'm chillin', trying to come up on a million,
I'm straight chillin', trying to get me a million bucks, man, yeah.
909 makes millions, millions y'all,
310 makes millions, millions y'all,
213 makes millions, millions y'all,
But 909, we make a killing.
