DJ Green Lantern – Ill (feat. Royce Da 5’9″ & Conway)


Lying ’til they got a twelve inch nose, now they got three feet
I’m so ill
I’m who your hoes thirst for, you’re the worst floor
I-ill
Nigga say that they the illest rhyming, now they got to see me
Street nigga, but I’m rappin’ like I graduated Yale
Uh, I came in here with enforcers and with the goons
This for niggas behind the wall to keep the ratchet in they cell
Come at me sideways, and get you yo’ spot on the news
Yeah, extended clip in the pot
I know the plug, make the call and get a package in the mail
I ain’t attracted to the plaques and all the sales
I-ill
But I had to just prevail
‘Cause if I ain’t the illest rapper, then actually I failed
You can line them niggas up, put a bunch of niggas together
My automatic full of shells, they try to take me out before
You gotta be fooled, shawty get yous, goons body you smooth

(All scars, we earn ’em, all cars, we learn ’em)
I’m so ill
I’m more G than Voorhees before he had the pumpkin face
I know the goons, the little savages as well
Rappers like a bunch of baby birds waitin’ for me to vomit
Tell them sucka niggas I said, "Fuck them niggas," whatever
[Verse 1: Royce Da 5’9"]
Which is why your boy remains on top
(Welcome to Hell where you are welcome to sell)
Either get out my face or I’m defacin’ you with a comment
The kinda shit that I’m on is reminiscing the pot
(Welcome to Hell where you are welcome to sell)

Of a naked chick, now I just be dissing hoes

I use to think raw sex was the sacred shit
Put you in a funeral home, body get views
‘Til I switch to faithful, ate some sushi from off the chest
Mac 11 thumpin’, chase bitches never dump them, make ’em get out

Word on the streets is niggas mad, don’t ruffle a nigga’s feathers
I literally turned down your wife so many times
(When them shells come, you better return ’em)
[Intro: Westside Gunn]
I-i-ill
I’m what’chu call them Detroit problems, now they got DP
[Chorus: Westside Gunn]
I tell the baddest bitch around
I’m so ill
You niggas know y’all can’t fuck with me nigga, never
I-i-ill
I can tell it’s fishscale, bust the plastic, I can smell
(When them shells come, you better return ’em)
Look, you must got it confused
Better stab you ’til you yell, while they passin’ out the mail, yeah
(When them shells come, you better return ’em)
I’m so ill
[Outro: Westside Gunn]
[Verse 2: Conway]
Her pussy lips eyes grilling you while you’re licking it with your fronts on
I-i-ill
"Hoe, you look like Tory Lanez jump shot"
Pickin’ this watch, got the hammer drawn, lift from the top
Nigga you not no gangsta, you just a rapper, I can tell
Took the Book of Ryan, I keep my story low, I’m the first floor
Now I got the AR, so now they gotta back up
I never fail, I aim for the stars, came up short and I hit the moon
Yeah momma, your son’s grown
I-i-ill
It’s passionate that I’m rapping with these rap niggas for real
Grippin’ the Glock, bandana on, look at the cops
(All scars, we earn ’em, all cars, we learn ’em)
Control their minds, keep them down on that sunken place