Ill Will vs. Bigg K [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Bigg K]
I said yo
You ready?
You must’ve faced two blunts faced with Quaalude dust
They ask my top five all the time, I ain’t say you once
All that aggression, just rap, I will break you up
Just cause you loud and you angry that don’t make you tough
I said yo, I’m in the streets with the sack, passenger seat with the Mac
Come get your fucking cherry popped, I’m in the V with the strap
But you can still get punched in your mouth for what you speak in your raps
And these shits split gums like it’s the last piece in the pack
I said look, I leave you leaking, machine beeping
Try to keep him alive, knuckle up
This uppercut throwing teeth in the sky
You eat at least a two piece in the blink of an eye
First a left, then right a Will like I think I’ma die
I said look, oh you got the joint on you?
The aim better be impeccable
Or strap with two of ’em, double jointed like you flexible
I kick in the door while you and shorty eating vegetables
Smack you with the table, that’s putting pussy on a pedestal
I’m Mr. Incredible, filling the pavilion
I put the boot on him like Sicilian civilians
Slit your wife throat, burn down the bitch building
So when your princess died (Di’) they don’t find any prints (Prince) William
I said fill your gun, which battle you feel you won?
What this man drop, Hancock, Will’s a bum
There’s a lot of snitches in Pontiac, I bet William one
But where I’m from, all that singing will get William Hung
I’m creeping with a long nose, that’s an aardvark
You gon’ leave the club in the trunk, that’s a golf cart
You got killed by DNA, you a soft mark
And got crushed by Roc’s/rock rounds like Raiders Of The Lost Ark
I take a ratchet and beat the breaks off you, that’s a car part
I never run out of lines, that’s a Wal-Mart
Your bitch, try to bring it back, that’s a false start
She take this frank to the grill, that’s a Ballpark
I stab scrubs in the face, get exfoliated
This how you lose an eye Will, get unmotivated
Was getting pushed by Smack but you ain’t close to greatness
Cause now Ill ain’t talked about like Ebola patients
Home invasion, I send Ill to the infirmary
I know you heard of me, I’ve been verbally on a murder spree
My verses crafted perfectly
You for certainly not murking me
Bitch, I’m about to wig on Will like Ron Burgundy
Hype shit, pulling teeth out with vice grips
They don’t let me post bail I’m a flight risk
Ice pick, butterfly knife grip
I stick more blades in Will than a spike strip
I’m a cut of something tougher, I don’t feel that cloth
Motherfuckers is ’bout to suffer, that ain’t Ill that’s cough
I took a couple months off but I’m still y’all boss
And now, I’m back riding, til the wheel (Will) fall off

[Round 1: Ill Will]
KOTD what’s popping?
If K spit a round he go get a full clip right back
He’ll (heel) suffer defeat (de feet) and die here–
Y’all know I ain’t come to spit no bullshit
We’re here now, save the tough talk for a pussy nigga
I don’t care how bad he cook
How many of y’all here for K?
{Crowd cheers loudly}
All y’all mama’s pussy’s got athlete’s foot
Cause y’all say he’s enterprising
But I beat beef, he lucky KOTD kept this tender rising (tenderizing)
You can catch a shell in front of your granny, no sympathizing
Shoot him out his shoes and put myself in ’em, I’m empathizing
I hit little baby K with a baby K, in a crazy way
I use to sock white boys like you on the daily K
If you ain’t heard the tales from my hood, don’t be acting crazy K
You let a white boy kill you, a chump
He let a chump kill him; Rosenberg
They say that White Boys Can’t Jump, well watch this pump lift him
You wanna fight? Well if you in the mood, try it then
Cause one swing will leave his chin hanging like a noose; Chinamen
I can show you I’m a top peeler, Glock spitter
But why when I can just steel/steal the shit outta Bigg K like shoplifter
I don’t care if I’m sober or off the Goose drunk
I don’t care who jump
You get two lumps
If you scary, kid book; Goosebumps
Me? You ain’t never seen the type
Two 40’s, both them bitches with me, threesome life
This bitch straight, but you can meet the dyke
I hit yo’ bitch pussy like pow
And after you go right into kiss her like Jackie Gleason’s wife
Who said I lose to this simpleton?
He’s soft as Kate Middleton with eight women friend
Ill Will? Remember him
I’ll put pieces of K all over the water
They ain’t no if I dismember him or disassembled him
Fuck what he talking ’bout
I don’t care how he play it
Cause I’ll stake out on him, hop out of nowhere with a lot of bucks; Alki David
I’ll silence the K, then silence K, right away
When that Tom Cruise this bitch won’t be the same after it’s over like Cameron Diaz in Knight & Day
You, Suge and the rest of these niggas is the same rappers
Talking ’bout shit y’all not gon’ do
Insane rappers that street shit is where the game matters
Before G, a K, and two G’s I’ll be (B) at his door like his name backwards
My niggas say, “Will, he nice and he hot. You gotta make him mild now.”
But if he act stupid or hostile I hit Kenny chest, niece and see a wild child
KOTD, I’m scorching this guy, every bar flaming; 4th of July
Him beating me? I doubt it’ll fly
K know to ball up when that red dot in his eye
I run in your house like, “Kids…get the fuck out.”
They proceed to rush out
Drag his bitch to the hallway, she get stuck out
You see nothing but K everywhere like I pitched a shut out
That’s straight yac
You can get a round of that
I wanna talk about…
{Round gets cut short by officials}

[Round 2: Bigg K]
You sweeter than the Dixie Chicks eating Pixie Stix
Painting they toe nails watching Disney flicks
You tough as twin toddlers throwing hissy fits
Potato on the barracuda; fish and chips
Kimbo fists, I ain’t never been no bitch
Owe me money? I’m in your house ’bout to flip yo’ shit
The bullet go through your scalp, then the pillow rip
I whip your head back and forth, for whatever Willow (Will owe) Smith
& Wesson, get to stepping
I kick your chest in, let it sing in your Babyface; Kenneth Edmonds
I heard your wack ass mixtape, that shit depressing
The label said, “I’ll call you back.” You a star; 67
I said throw that trash away, you really not a match for K
You jumping out the window like Donny Hathaway
I catch you on a late night, that’s a matinee
And soccer ball Will son/Wilson like Castaway
You was running your faggot mouth so you had to pay
This little dirty motherfucker getting thrashed today
You faberge, soon as you try to jab I sway
Throwback hooks; Jazze Pha, Cassius Clay
Molly whop, body shot, make him hurl of the man belching
Late night, I’m on the hunt while you vamping: Van Helsing
You can hash it out or get ice waxed; full melting
No hippie, I throw Willy in a full Nelson
I’m full Melvin, baby boy back on back
If Will slip this hammer, knock him back on track
They calling me “the future”
Why? See, they throwing me racks on racks
While you on Twitter, every day, sucking DICK, trying to get back on Smack
Like, “What’s up big bro? They don’t do it like the Iller
I kill Shotgun, I’ll ruin that gorilla.”
You battled Tay Roc and got dominated cause you used a lot of filler
After that you got exonerated, DNA proved you not a killer
What you think gon’ happen when me and you start rapping?
You see this heat start clapping? Then your Nissan flattened
I’m in your yard with a yopper, curse the children
I’ll paint your fucking house, this a sure win (Sherwin) William
I say look, all I brought is gun bars cause I’m filled with evil
If I don’t find you, I’ll kill your people
Point blank head shot, spill cerebral
A British Bulldog through the window of William Regal
Say look, the driver screwed, he took the Phillips head route
I break your jaw with a cheap shot, pick a bed out
They find teeth in the parking lot, split and spread out
But pieces of your gum drop on the roof that’s a Gingerbread House
I said look, I just got a gun, fuck weightlifting
It light skin a clip will bang like Blake Griffin
You said that you was gon’ win, now it’s way different
They never believe shit stink til they face in it

[Round 2: Ill Will]
Ayo he talked about his resume last year like he wouldn’t see a meaner threat
You a fat redneck from Virginia, I bet at least three of yo’ family members was Springer guests
Yet and still you got a murder game and the bag moving, like that’s some tough shit
I’ll rob you, go battle T-Top with that fuck shit
Cause I’m a renegade, go to any state and take any plate
Matter of fact, there were so many Michigan niggas VA, we had to renovate
Nigga fuck what he talking ’bout, I see niggas trying to move him
But everywhere I go they loving Ill like a Magic Johnson groupie
You said I was a sucka for doing B.E.T., fuck whatever lie you tell me
But you don’t even get pussy so K Y(why) you jelly?
If he throw one, I throw fo’ back
He know that
If it start with K then it end with K, like Kodak
You get the picture?
Cause you could get it stuck in your head like you know those songs
They’ve been waiting for these negatives to develop for oh so long
You beating me? No, oh so wrong
Cause when these cannon’s/Canon’s flash it hit the nigga behind you too, that’ll be his last photo bomb
I earn my stripes, these niggas, don’t get a freebie
Back in the day I would’ve dropped you every week like a No Limit CD
I’m a bad boy, the best you ever seen do it
Trying to get bills up, ripping through the streets it ain’t a theme to it
I got a K, long as K-Shine, and an old .44, the best you ever seen shoot it
So why you wanna get this, ’04 Piston when you know it got a ring to it?
If you tough as shit, bust a clip or suck a dick
Big strap, longer than the one your uncle used to fuck you with
I’ll kick down the do’ like, “Aye, you know the story dude.”
He flinch or he move he getting stuck, I’m in a gory mood
Soon as I touch the top of the key, big shot, or he/Horry move
Three clicks, will send this bitch home quicker than Dorothy’s shoes
Why should I give, two flying fucks about this battle scene?
When there’s fraud niggas like this, that miss they brother funeral for a battle dream
But fuck all that, I’m ’bout to get back to this lyrical karate beating
Cause them chopsticks catch any nigga thinking he fly like Miyagi eating
I don’t care who official, I’ll let a Ruger hit you
Or get a 100 round drum, you’ll fight a Crazy 88 like Uma with you
This kinda like yo’ house, kinda
I’m eating off yo’ plate and the kid’s lunch
He got a problem with it, neck shot, he looking like Steams, mid punch
We go hard nigga, but we gotta keep that shit from the undercover
So we switch it up, every time a new bundle coming
That 40 on me, but that .45 on another brother
That shotty lift him so high God was like, “Damn nigga, you got here quick than a motherfucker.”
Y’all remember when I said, “You from the hood that say ‘Stop Snitching'”
Well I’m from a hood where they put that same snitch on our shirt, go to the church and tell his mama to (stop bitching)
That was some of the realest shit
It’s like a gift when I talk to you
But the deeper thing about it is, yo’ mama could’ve been the bitch I was talking to
Yak Town in this bitch!

[Round 3: Bigg K]
I said look man, y’all prolly think that shit Rosenberg said about my brother like that shit was intense
Only thing is, when I said “bro” I was speaking in a figurative sense
You know the type you knew since five ’til the day that he died
So you had to hold his mom in yo’ arms while she cried?
And she looked at you and said, “If you had a battle, that’s some shit that need to get done.”
Cause she knew deep down what that opportunity would mean to her son
See that’s that type of shit that get you punched in the mouth
Stop rapping ’bout shit you don’t know nothing about
I could really rap boy, you really wack
If Will working with a Tommy, it’s Men In Black
They pumped you up to get aired out; picture that
I squeeze the can on Will, that’s Fix A Flat
I said I’m the God’s honest truth like a Jewish Bible
Choose a title, you either stupid or suicidal
It may be both but I say he ghost if I use a rifle
So stand up and ride Will (wheel) be a unicycle
I said look, I’m booking battles by the threes trying to body camps
Got the belt for kicks and punches like karate champs
You said, “Will buzzing”, he ain’t got the stamp
You bubbling, but it’s light, that a lava lamp
Small room setting or the center stage jerk
You gonna get the same work, hope your feelings ain’t hurt
Got a brand new chopper, you wanna feel the flame first?
This the best M16 (Em’ 16) since The Renegade verse
You just rhyme rehearsing, I’ve been a violent person
Way back, before Dizaster could tie a turban
Thirteen, with a coffee can I use to hide my work in
Taking shots of Remy on the roof like Higher Learning
I put some money on your head get your retail check
You’se a keyboard gangsta, making e-mail threats
They thought I had stop and go on the CLS
Cause I break and spin wheels (Wills) like a Spreewell set
Out the same PG class we emerged
But that don’t mean we an even match with the words
I saw Norbes was a bird, I feel back from the herb
You stayed, got milked dry then they kicked yo’ ass to the curb
Right? They put y’all on B.E.T., but did they pay you all? Hell no
You gotta wonder if B.E.T. paid URL doe
See, I don’t count nobody pockets that’s all and fine
But if you eating off of my work, I gotta draw the line
I say I’m a grown ass man, I seen the business was wack
I left, you got left, there’s a difference in that
And you still be sucking Smack like them your idols
You beat Sno? They didn’t even let you defend your title
Y’all say my bars is too vague, I’m not tapping into the moment
They just random punchlines that apply to any opponent
The first time that I was told it I think I had to be laughing like
“Excuse the fuck outta me for actually rapping.”
I don’t take took many angles, I ain’t into the scheme tip
But if you’ve heard “Less is more” I’m really a genius
Cause bar after bar I be kicking some mean shit
And I feel the same ’bout everybody I get in the ring with
He GARBAGE, you trash!

[Round 3: Ill Will]
We both thinkers my nigga, I’m not into the shit you trying
But you did some me how easy it is to play y’all
Where his moms at? BITCH YOU LYING!
You made that shit up
But you talk about KOTD like they nerds and it’s a queer show
Well shit, if it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t even be here no mo’
R.B.E. called you Kannon whooped yo’ ass
You tried to clear shit up with Norbes on the phone, he cooked yo’ ass
I don’t even know why they fuck with you, yo’ footage looks so trash
You should be kissing these nerds shoes, they the only ones that book yo’ ass
But I wanna get around to, what I wanted to get around to
I believe you a fraud ass nigga…and everybody around you
You told Rosenberg, “I was 18 when turned 18. In a cell with a lifer. Pops played the block with the rocks in my diaper.”
My little cousin like, “That real shit.”
I said, “No the fuck it’s not.”
I said, “Will, Will chill you ain’t from that block.”
I said, “I don’t give a fuck I still feel like he had a dumbass pops.”
You mad nigga? Cause you’ll prolly follow the tradition
Riding with your daughter, got the doggy and the swammy
Cops pull you over you like, “Here baby put these baggies in your panties.”
That’s some faggot ass shit
Make a nigga wanna come to VA and start blasting thangs
But you’ll prolly hope baby girl grow up as a shield like Nino when the Italians came
You a disgrace, I don’t believe the story so I’ma go back to it
How do you know his moms was- my nigga
You missed a fucking funeral for a battle, you didn’t get shit fo’
And you lost
That make you a disloyal bitch…and you soft
What if his mom’s pass? God forbid
But to him it’s nothing tragic
His sister like, “Kenny are you going to the funeral?”
He like, “Nah, I got Summer Madness.”
That’s your fucking mother
That’s not a battle that you should do
Or you should go
“It’s fucking Summer Madness and they want me to battle Goodz though.”
But I ain’t even ’bout to come with the jokes
Cause if your bitch tripping, my dick made to calmer
We can fight, but this blade a monster
I let the thing sing, Sinead O’Connor
Hit you and catch yo’ boo K (bouquet) like the maid of honor
Fuck K, the bitch is soft
If I call them they rushing (Russian) K; Kalashnikov
Soon as I came in this game, I was killing, I’m stupid with the sport
Your bitch got a venereal disease, it’s chewing through the shorts
So if you wanna fight, he’ll prolly have his man’s scrap
I knew you was a dork but soon as I see K, man I land (Cayman Island), that’s a beautiful resort
If there’s a problem, they coming, and they’ll be in a hurry
You’ll see nothing but shells, you’ll see them in flurries
He got a problem with me, dome shot
He’ll turn up dead like Weekend At Bernies
This what y’all wanted to see, but he ain’t in the same business I be in
I’m never worried
God is my witness I’ma win
You peaked last year, bitch I’m hitting mine again
Gun so loud, I can shoot him in Holyoak and the people in Boston think they racing to the finish line again
But you know what? When I look at you, I see a stupid bitch
But I like his tracks though, he nice with the music shit
But I can give your girl a Tina Turner to a bitch
While you making a group of hits
As soon as I step in I leave you fucked in the booth
What’s Love Got To Do With It?
30/30 red beam, give him hickies
20/20 vision, six I’s like “Mississippi”
You must’ve tapped into the dumbest part of you
And what was fucked up about that night
The whole crowd was retarded too
Aye so if that’s the case that ain’t where the shit stop
After I start blaming ya
I’ll pull a blade and carve 8 A’s in his face like Canada
I killed you nigga, but I’m still ya folks
I just wanna tell nigga that go against Will, your will get wrote
Niggas say they the best, but I killed the G.O.A.T
Any ill will towards Ill Will get ill and you will get smoked
Yak Town in this bitch

Follow us on Twitter @BattleLyrics

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s