Ill Will vs. Nu Jerzey Twork [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Nu Jerzey Twork]
I said, all my problems get handled with a pound
You can question my authority, but I don’t answer from the mouth
We make artwork with bloodstains
And where I’m from, the canvas is the ground
The rundown (*click-click*)
With the 12 outside waiting…like Chris Hansen in the house
It’s hell to pay!
And purgatory had you thinking you even had a chance of gettin’ out
How well-descriptive
You chose the name “Will”…and got held against it!
Restless, I guess that gives your name less significance
Well, you can rap with God
I hear He got the best deliverance!
9 with the ladd-
Any last words!?
I gave him minutes to talk…but the TECs unlimited!
His name Will
He signed his own death certificate!
I’m climbin’ up the charts
Yeah, these gun bars, but I be really firin’ ‘em off
Chest shot, and whatever this four give you, you gon’ have to find it in your heart
Your core is plunged!
BOW! Then I let it go out…like the chores is done
Sword for son
And this a massive razor
You ever seen a turtle and a rabbit racing?
(*shhk*) I TORE this one!
This whore is stuffed, Larkin tucked
Fuck praying on your bronchitis, I’ll send Ill coffin up!
Antetokounmpo, ‘cause you don’t really think I’m a G, honest
Well, I really shoot
So soon as you see the mill’, WALK! He BUCKS!
I’m with the shits
Pistol grip, pop
Or pull out a British Bulldog: fish and chips
BRRAOW! Hit ya miss, lift ya shit
I’ll put you both four feet over a Sweeper: you’re gettin’ hitched!
Bitch, I kill bruh
Infrared bangin’ at the door: WIL-MA!
I make my enemies retire
Brand-new toy, whip out the box
I gotta put Will on it: assembly required
This the biggest semi, I shoot ‘til the semi empty
Clip gone, I get down to the nitty-gritty
The first hit did you wrong
(The first hit, “Did You Wr-)
You with me, Willy!?
I’ll let it sing ‘til there’s no more pleasure in it: Pretty Ricky!
The POP off, but we could have an ending to this war
My name Twork, from Streetwork, and the benefits is short
If I smoke a nigga, then I go to prison
Ain’t no winners in this course
I can prove my gangsta to you, but then I’d have to prove my innocence in court!
You can’t change your verdict
You niggas seen jail on movies, it ain’t the same in person
I done seen a nigga get a hundred years, and ain’t deserve it
See, all I know is struggle
Banga burstin’, brain dispersin’
Pistol-whip, I’ll even let you choose what side of the silver, like you came the furthest
Watch ya mouth! Nigga, save your words
You make a sound, I break it down: layman’s terms
I let it ring: home number
You get robbed with Smack, I’m my own gunner
Long fucker, make me pull up, pop the ch-
You get the Bonecrusher
I single-handedly stamped this wave
And progression is one thing you can’t proclaim
Nigga, you joined Team Homi years ago, and you still the same man today
Every time I see you, you in the same spot!
Well, what was your plans with Swave?
I kill [?] and the Will goin’ nowhere: hamster cage
You tend to flop, then everybody diss an’ bark William: Plymouth Rock
And when it’s no Wills, what’s left to hold Pontiac up!?
I spin the block with fire flyin’
Everybody claim “ride or die”…’til it’s time to die about it
Diabolic
Michelin Man: I put rounds in Will and tire ‘bout it
That’s what happen- (Time!)
They sleep!

 

[Round 1: Ill Will]
I’m too evil
Two Eagles
BOW, BOW…now Rome gotta pray for two people!
Nigga, I am Born Legacy
But all you do is choke in battles
You shoulda been a part of Born legacy!
Why you been doin’ this in your battles, you limp-wrist BITCH!?
That’s flame Twork
URL set you up
Don’t worry, though, that’s how the game work
You just pure ass that bounce ar-
Okay, that’s why his name Twork!
We way different!
Talent and support got me here
Smack and Beas’, they like Star Wars: the force got you here!
I made niggas respect me, I was prepared to fight!
Norbes pushed you on us…like a nigga who was SCARED to fight!
Who came with that schizophrenic shit outta nowhere!? ME, nigga!
And y’all run and take the shit! I HATE that shit!
I feel like I’m the GOAT, but Mike carried you out with that Jamaican dish
Chest open, in a field somewhere
That’s where Twork will wind up like a Jamaican BITCH!
I’ll take Twork, work, twerk (*sighs*)…long as the pay right
This li’l bitch still suffer from stage fright
Little 9 all in these grown folks’ face, but she was raised right
I put him on the can like a Monsters drink
What’s crazy is I put in work that scare these niggas…that’s Monsters, Inc.!
You have to go in yo’ bag, invest, and put on for these kids
Nigga, if I go in my bag, you gon’ have to put a vest on yo’ kids
The beach, to the gun store: my shell different
Creeped on your bitch and caught your First Lady, Twork: Michelle trippin’!
I hold weight on SMACK, you gotta wait on SMACK: the scale different
You can’t get out of petty crimes, I’m lookin’ at 40 bows: the BAIL different!
Bobby’s World: your bitch wanna ride on Big Will
Headshot, Twork everywhere on cam, like Tip Drill!
I’m in the whip with the chrome, sittin’ mellow
We waitin’ on you, I’m in the zone with my fellows
Come in the house, we turn his dome into Jello
Soon as you see the mans rain, I come behind him with the Sig: Capone cigarellos
If you heard I don’t play, you better believe that shit
My nigga will break ya neck for a dime like, “Bruh…did you see that bitch!?”
That’s why y’all glad I’m back on URL! I brought the drama back
And these little bitches is Twork end: where they mama at?
Bomb a cat, ‘cause I’m psycho when the Llama bustin’
‘Cause these little bitches can also stop Twork, like they mama comin’!
I’m in a bad fuckin’ mood!
Gut shot, he curled: stomach flu
You could get killed thinkin’ certain niggas fuck wit’ you
Now Twork in a box in church…what is this world comin’ to!?
Y’all niggas sellin’ dope?
Nah…I be all over them shits
Think Beetlejuice: if I draw at your door, you chalked all over them bricks!
I hold the K like Peewee: the long way
Bullets fly by like, “Whew! Yo, today was a long day!”
You got your style from Daddy, nigga! I raised you, Twork
You just a juvenile
Back yo’ ass up, I made you, Twork!
I’m squirtin’ wit’ the TECs
Slugs burstin’ through his vest
Pistols like areolas: everybody in your circle on they chest
Tool out!
I got ghost on niggas, but had the power to bring the truth out
This one, Usher Raymond
The other one, the parole board when it’s a shootout
‘Cause you know this one will burn you
But you ain’t know the other one will let the juice out!
We are NOT the same!
You can tell by the numbers when the stock exchange
Bucks to his couch: it ain’t pocket change
You got a real Diesel wit’ a real big feature
You can’t stop the rain!
I’m gettin’ hungry
Hold the pistol sideways, it’s spittin’ funny
Y’all sayin’ he beatin’ me? Now that’s really funny!
Now you got the OG schoolin’ Twork
This bitch need tuition money!
Yak Town in this bitch!

[Round 2: Nu Jerzey Twork]
I said, I don’t do the personals, I’m only known for clips
And if I do judge, we hold court
So you can speak out in your own defense
You try to dig up dirt? You’ll need an archaeologist
You tryna figure where I’m goin’ with this
That just mean, saying anything false’ll leave us with a bone to pick
You a clone for this!
Saw my style, and decided you’d copy the next nigga
50 Cent, Effen Vodka: you replica!
I been peepin’ lately
Y’all seen Ill Will last round?
You had to check the bounce…well, now I need a payment!
Leg shot
If he get in the thigh, Will be done: Jesus prayin’!
Heater blazin’!
Two in the drums, like I ain’t tryna hear a peep you sayin’!
Or I’m doin’ life!
Like, fuck a shorter sentence-
BOW! Soon as the nigga breathe, he ate it!
I kill ya kind
I used to do the walk-ups, but that was too much of a hill to climb
It’s drive-bys, and in here, it tense: I’ll leave Will behind
Seize ya life, this ain’t gon’ be a even fight
I mean, ain’t nobody jumpin’ in (hold up)
But these move at the speed of light (*fft-fft-fft*)
You see, this get Ill lid or it-
BOW! It couldn’t read or write!
I’m gutta with mine
Glock, clip, they’ll have a wonderful time
30 a pedophile: slap the butt of the 9!
That’s all crime, and nigga, I ain’t had enough of violence
Duplicity, this the same shit that got my brother locked in
But see, I don’t know a nigga in the hood that wasn’t robbin’
Revolver spinnin’
Ironic they all turn it if there’s no other options
The plot thick!
And, nigga, we don’t get that feeling when you talk!
It’s arms up, lean down, wishin’ for applause
Ain’t nobody come to see you, Will!
Nigga, you ain’t even mentioned in the cards
Is that a fact, or he-? Factory?
See, I just had to give Willy one ’cause they don’t get a ticket for them BARS!
I grip a Smith n’, bright as a Sunday
And the light down on Willy, beamin’
It wasn’t any given!
Semi spittin’
Somebody tell Ill he trippin’
Random…but there was no bitches in that pool with Calic-
(*chk-chk*)
Soon as this hit his skin, he dippin’!
Plenty victims!
That nigga Ave a bar thief
I don’t see why they pay him for that pen he pinchin’!
That nigga cheatin’!
Aye, Smack, this nigga steal rhymes, still get booked? This shit is treason!
But you already knew this, Ave
Nudist Ave? Them bitches streakin’!
That bitch boring!
Ain’t nobody do shit for me, but Sig Sauer
How many of y’all wish Christopher Wallace was still alive today? (YEAH!)
The BIG 40!
Must I remind you, if I find you, it gets gory
Soon as I pop out, this one’s for the books: kids’ stories
The rundown, put the gun down
(*sshhk*) Gut guile
Buck-fifty, I cut smiles
It was a mistake callin’ me out
And now you got them numbers on your cheeks: butt-dial!
I grab the piece and lead dump
It’s music to my ears, and we ain’t hear enough
Dome shot: Meek Mill, Face Down
Chin shot: 2Pac, Keep Ya Head Up!
Proper, that’s a scope on top the chop-
Nah, rocket launcher
Come to your funeral and blow up the box, (*pfft*)…Socker Bopper!
JERSEY!

[Round 2: Ill Will]
You be bouncin’ around like a little monkey
But still don’t give me that gorilla feel
You not ice-cold, you just a common cold
You know…a little Ill
Pussy, pussy, pussy…that’s all that I smell
I don’t care which craft you use, you still liquidated
You in a dry spell
They set you up, I’m finna kill Twork
A bitch with AIDS, givin’ lap dances
Nobody want it wit’ Ill, Twork!
The coldest chrome, so you know it’s on
My mans follow you, so I know you’re home
I say, “Lay it down”, yo’ bitch know the tone
Now you got Will surrounding ya house: it ain’t a mobile home
Square up, if we fightin’ then
I’m just tryna make your wife my friend
Evel Knievel
Keep stuntin’, the wrong Will flip, and your life could end
Try it, nigga!
I got real goonies that’ll blast that for me
Oh, but you STRAPPED IN!?
BOW! It don’t matter when you the crash-test dummy!
Beasley said, “Will! Get rid of them niggas!”
I’ll leave him lyin’, with 20 to his chest
I will BURY Jersey: I’m a Michigan nigga!
I could call up any iron I need to put a hole in one, like I knew the caddie
Now Twork in front of the 50: it ain’t a sugar daddy!
Mike brought that butterfly to ya cocoon, to reverse life
But I don’t know dude
I just like the butterfly over Twork: I’m with the old school!
I brought that torch to Jersey!
Don’t get scorched in Jersey
It’s in my genes
Tom Shepard: I ain’t takin’ no shorts in Jersey!
Speaking of that, it is like Above the Rim when I spray the .30
A round shoot out in the middle of Jersey like I played for Birdie!
Twork…aaaahhhh!

[Round 3: Nu Jerzey Twork]
Yo!
I SHOOK HIS PRIDE!
LIKE, “TWORK COMIN’! NIGGA, LOOK ALIVE!”
HE DIED WITH HIS EYES WIDE OPEN: THE NIGGA LOOK ALIVE!
I…be face-deep in ya mother tits
I can put my whole dick in her pussy…with another fist!
She say, “Oh, it hurt!”
I say, “Shut up, bitch”
She say, “No, slow it down”
I say, “SPEED IT UP!” I’mma SMOTHER shit!
These ain’t no average rounds, scrap
I told myself I wouldn’t play with you, so I had this down pat
It’s, “BRRAK!”…sounds like a Black Sabbath soundtrack
Quasimodo
The one I’m showin’ will ring ya bell…and he ain’t even had a hunch of what I had around back!
Promise we ain’t got nothing we share in common
I hold the handle down for the kickback: cherub-
Fuck a gun, I’ll use the blade
The organs will tear inside him
If his DNA on it, of course you spray the machete…with sterilizer!
Quit the funny business!
Nigga, I ain’t the one to gimmick
Two 9’s blow, Johnny Bravo: I do The Monkey wit’ it!
Lives get took
I pull up with an AK, and in the peg leg where the Llama put
I’m on deck with one arm hooked
The other stick to the leg: pirate foot!
Chalk in ya shape
I’M the wreck that could cause you to sink
I said “pirate” to make this body overboard like walkin’ the plank
Suck a DICK, nigga!
I ride on your covenant
Bati boy, FUCK your Jamaican!
You gon’ have to dial up another friend
Soon as you pick up (Bow! Bow! Bow!)
That’s him dyin’ on the other end!
I’m packin’ power!
And a bullet in the back will detach ya spinal
Just like every other battle…you used to having a MAC behind ya!
Pop him, grip a Glock, clip’ll drop him
Whatever I air connect to the neck like Mr. Crocker
And this a chopper
Stop taking through ya neck ‘fore the scalpel go in
Or leg shot
Ironic the blade stuck out his neck…but the gun went out on a limb
Blast off!
Two’ll make you put the Yak away: last call
I blaze the weapon
Facial lock, it open up soon as your face detected
Stock down: Great Depression
The gun monotheistic: I’ll let one guide you to the Gates of Heaven!
I’M STRAPPED IN!
I’LL CLAP YOU IN A COMA!
MADNESS! I COULD (SNAP AT ANY MOMENT!)
My pen just better
I did the Salsa, now it’s big Beretta
Grew up, added 15 to her: she had a quinceñera
Y’ALL LET IT ROCK!
But before that “Strapped In” with Mike P, I had a better stock!
So, shit, if I choke tonight, I’ll let Berettas pop!
Put Smack and Beasley in the trunk: THIS SHIT’LL NEVER DROP!!!
FUCK OUTTA HERE!
JERSEY!

[Round 3: Ill Will]
Oh, so we talkin’ ’bout mamas?
Now you know I’m ’bout to talk about fuckin’ yo’ mama…
Oh, I’m ’bout to talk about fuckin’ yo’ mama…even though she got some big-ass drawers
You know what, fuck that…
Twork…Ryda…Jakkboy…and y’all fuck with Drugz?
Y’all whole existence is a big-ass pause
I don’t know WHAT happened!
Aye, y’all remember this, though!?
My man told me to talk to your nose ring, ’cause that’s the problem
Aye, this shit awkward, but, “Ayo, Nose Ring…what’s poppin’?”
Aye, why you fuck with this nigga?
You ain’t even ‘posed to be fuckin’ with niggas!
Aye, just let your man know that he can get a few shots from a few Glocks
Catch him at his house, off the rooftop
What YOU got!? ‘Cause-
What you say?

I don’t give a fuck if you was fuckin’ with 2PAC?!
Y’all remember that slavery shit back in the day?
Well, the .40 will split him in half
I’ll segregate ya life, boy
It reminded me of the ’50s, how you couldn’t eat with that white boy
I’m splurgin’ with these bucks: I’mma treat myself
No, Ryda, I’m on the own with the heat myself
Catch ya bitch, slice her son: I can’t believe myself
Hang Anderson in the tree, and her son in the tree
DON’T MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF!
Or it’s simple, Taurus hit you
Hook get stuck in ya head: the chorus simple
Gorgeous pistol
I could beat around the bush, but I’m straightforward with you
Those who are backwards get a dot in the middle
It ain’t a horror symbol
Man, I came back and had a classic with Nitty, and stuck a knife in Charlie
Now Twork in trouble like Ebony at a private party!
You know what? I’m still lurkin’, with the steel burstin’
You talkin’ ’bout my Jamaican, but he get requested more than you in battles
He ain’t even a REAL PERSON!
I seen the similarities, I had to analyze it
I came with that bipolar rap, then ya mans revised it
Old pistol, dirty as fuck: I had to sterilize it
Men In Black, if Will flash this in ya face, you forget everything: I had to neuralize it!
I’m always by the heat: that’s a Pontiac symptom
He try to shield, I’ll let it cross in the middle: that’s a Pontiac emblem
In all fairness, you can’t compare this
This bitch the scaredest
Took his bitch, she embarrassed
Now Ill in that pink, all muff: breast cancer awareness
When I came in, I had Smack on some fiend shit
This nigga will go to Texas in some big-ass Timbs and a jean-fit
FUCK the Goonies! I still see Team BITCH!
And I don’t care if y’all 20-deep
I’ll still surf and hit 16 on the low: Asia Dean shit!
You in the Matrix, Twork! This don’t feel right
MR. ANDERSON! If I pull this plug, you gon’ die in real life!
You beatin’ me? Stop that, that’s rhetorical
They just tell you what you need to hear: that’s the Oracle
I send you to the Most High
I get the most high, you chochi
This was about five, six days prep, without the bow-tie!
I catch you and yo’ bitch in the whip: y’all BOTH die!
But Twork gon’ get a split-screen
Get that ass clapped on BOTH sides!
RESPECT YA LIFE!
I’ll deck ya wife
Smack your slaves master, but if Willy lynch him, I’ll have the rest of you niggas in check for LIFE!
YakTown in this BITCH!

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