Illmac vs. Ill Will [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Ill Will]
Win or lose in these situations, I done heard that any verdict befo’
Actin’ like you surprised he said that, you know you heard that befo’
Serious note
A. Ward told me he was ’bout to beat yo’ ass in Oakland bro
I believe him too
I believe in Jesus too
I believe in schemin’ through, creepin’ through
Past yo’ bedroom givin’ yo’ mama some semen stew
I’m a demon too
From an egregious crew
Seein’ who {points to Illmac} never made it
Been here since 2007, pockets HAHA; devastated
Prolly cause he always gettin’ jacked up, but Will’s (wheels) the one that’s elevated
I’ll make ‘Mac book (MacBook)
Grab his girl, fold her, take her to the archives
I told my shooter, once you see ‘Mac memory run out from the eternal hard; drive
This nigga’s gon’ be like, “Will’s a bum clown that’s gonna spit dumb rounds
With gun sounds while I euthanize the lucid guy with stupid rhymes
I see the world through Truman’s eyes with juice and -“
Shut the fuck up
Your girl say I’m better of these days
My wordplay; Sergei how I fed her off (Fedorov) these plays
So I’m on the same shit
Rubber band around the grip, it don’t make prints
Long arm, run ‘Mac through Windows…that don’t make sense
Damn, I got lost there
How I play it? Not at all fair
Logic, Pro Tools, I’m too different, soft where (software)?
Nigga you pussy
That’s the reason I’ma try you
I’ll catch Ill’ with a hook then cook him, I’m eatin’ in the Bayou
Who think I won’t smack this nigga?
Let’s make a bet, I don’t condone BS, I take respect
I Am Legend if my dog (dawg) turnin’ Will’ll break his neck
Now how I do this? I gotta move it I’m ridin’ foolish
Overheatin’, I’m outta coolin’
Got leagues trippin’ from elite spittin’ out the deep Mitten
Five to the side of his dome, the weave itchin’
Did he mention, how I renovate, innovate, dissapate
Got bodies in different states
Big spud on the long nose I’ll give ya bitch a taste
If you don’t want me to give your miss the (Mr.) Potato, fix ya face
I literally came from jail tombs to compel rooms
I inhale doom
If I got any kind words for Ill’, get well soon
Cause there’s somethin’ heavy in the truck
I’ll raise it, start wettin’ shit up
….he jump, hands shakin’, lookin’ like Twork settin’ up a punch
But I’m just here to entertain for two minutes and get big meals, period
It’s been rainy days, but I’m still goin’ to work under the weather, I don’t take this Ill’ serious
Yak Town in this bitch

[Round 1: Illmac]
I’ll embarrass this wack bitch
The Deringer strap spits
That shit you wearin’ is wack bitch
But your style’s just like his shirt, old school, just a bunch of character, that’s it
Straight out the gate, the hype for Mass 5 was real
But I almost didn’t do it cause I ain’t have time to spare…but I have time to kill
Let’s get it out the way
It’s on fans minds but still who’s catchin’ a body?
Ill Will?
You damn right I’ll ill Will
Ill’s will
I don’t want none of that
Stick to jokes and them reaches cause if we fuckin’ rap it’s a fuckin’ wrap
I’m talkin’ quick draw, ladders fall
Get ripped off, sample laws
I need to get all of my publishing, this starts wit’ hustlin’; Rick Ross
Catalogue, let the chips fall, pit boss, stack the odds
Started a Lil’ Scrappy now I’m the big dog
Catch the paws; lift off
Astronaut; dip dodge
Shadowbox; hip toss
Jab and cross, lift a pound, sit him down; criss cross apple sause
You can get this work Ill
I’ll retire your rap right like Will [?], fuck what you heard Will
I’ll play nice, throw a shot in the first, chill
A shot in the second, that don’t work still
It’s straight rights, date night
You goin’ out with a couple in the third Will
Still, I don’t step in this ring to explain my problems
I got here by sheer will, all we got is a name in common
Was movin’ weight out my first place, sick of eggs and Ramen
The plug gave me a choice: coke or tree
Told him I had to weigh my options
I watched him
Last few months this emotional dude suffered
Bodied by me, Pass, Gotti, pickin’ different opponents would do wonders
But he hand picks squad from the west? And had to go through a cruel summer
I’m cool as a fan blade, cool as a cucumber
But keep a cig’ (Sig’) just in case, like I only smoke when I do uppers
ODin’, coke with the Blues Brothers
Big homie told me it’s time so the slogan is Bruce Buffer
I rap but the vibe is different, was molded by true hustlers
But like passin’ a kite in prison, I took notes from a few others
I’ve known me a few gunners
Beam to him like passin’ a light through prisms, it started exposin’ his true colors
Like, like, why you always got that semen stew, fuckin’ somebody’s mother type of energy?
Shit, preppin’ for this I broke up with my bitch so he couldn’t even fuck her hypothetically
See Will got big jokes and I love it the angle is lyrical
Funny, you talk about people’s relatives, just to use unrelated material
Well catch me with his mom, I’ll give her the wheel barrel
He walk in, I lift and give Will barrels
But, dig the plot, I show how dated this pilgrim got
Land in Mass and soon as I hit the spot I mark him out like Plymouth Rock
Fuck the Twitter talk
Throw a punch it’s gettin’ blocked
Dip and dodge against the odds
The one they count out ’til a round house drill a jaw like Dillashaw
Break bones, cast on him, fishing docks
Hold grudges, fingers crossed, burn bridges, swim across
Feet cemented; cinderblock
Target locked; missile launched
Throw a round; disc get tossed
Beam him up; lick a shot
Point it here (pointed ear); Mr. Spock
Let him turn up
Outside he was chill, he performs but
‘Bout time he gets killed out right with the skill
Funny he’s facin’ death, and I’m the one out writing (outwriting) the Will

[Round 2: Ill Will]
My daughter got me this shirt bitch
A. Ward literally told me he was ’bout to beat yo’ ass in Oakland bro
I believe him too
I believe in Jesus too
I believe A. Ward wanted to do way more than just preach to you
He had reason to
Cause you was right, I’m fuckin’ ya mama
I wanna be in a relationship wit’ her, but she think I’ma hoe
Last time I fucked her the condom broke
I was thinkin’ back on the time I last boned on the table; Domino
Llama blow
He always gettin’ shaky, I’ve been crazy
Only ill white boy I know in trenches? Dick Tracey
Shit crazy
Ayo but peep the play
I take him out his shoes and run his pockets if I see his face
You convey your (conveyor) belt holds steel, well we gon’ see today
Arsonal killed him
I’ll take him out the bag and put ‘Mac in another bin, we goin’ through TSA
The .40 blow, then the .50 burst next
They wonderin’ how did he (Diddy) get all them bucks in a big Mac; Biggie first check
‘Ganik said, “I need a fuckin’ classic.”
I said, “Brother it’s gonna be fuckin’ tragic
And I’ma just skate wit’ the bag; Bucky Lasek.”
You a backdrop
I’ll pull this bitch out in a packed spot
Then stick her (sticker) on ‘Mac, I’m designing my laptop
‘Mac stop
Willy hustllin’
I’m really thuggin’
The .4 (For’) (fore) arms bustin’ quick; Jenny touched it
KOTD, but look this my first “Ill” kill
You got Charlie Sheen, Magic- oh you got Ill vs Ill
But who really iller?
Illmac? Silly wigger
You really trippin’
I’ll pop him, toss the Cal’ in the lake without skinny dippin’
Whoa there, why did I go there?
What do Cal’ and skinny dippin’ got- oh you ain’t see the hoes (holes) there
I load pair
You know you a wordsmith but sometimes I be thinkin’ you don’t know yo’ raps
It’s like, you on a song with three other niggas sayin’ ‘Fuck Everybody’, seem like that should’ve been a solo track
But bruh, you ain’t been the man in almost 15 years
Still bringin’ up Scribble Jam
Fam’, the nigga that created Scribble Jam don’t remember Scribble Jam
You’ve been congratulated, we know you accoladed
But we accolated, we really aggravated
Why is you bookin’ him? You can tell from what he write like an affidavit
This a zeitgeist to a flight risk
Trigger warning to a trigger finger
This “Ill”? A guest to me
This “Ill”? Sent from God; leprosy
Respect the G
I’ll make your life very shorter
I’ll be in Portland with an old .30; Terry Porter
If I put it on yo’ forehead and it burst in yo’ cap
The doctor better have the mind of Steve Jobs workin’ on ‘Mac
Two rounds down, y’all know how I clown shit
What I say after every battle?
Yak Town in this bitch!

[Round 2: Illmac]
Anyways, back to this “lyrical karate beating”
Remember when you said that against Bigg K?
I do, it pissed me off
That’s why I only listen when a dollars speakin’
And everybody know me in the hood get that Mr. Rogers treatment
If he wanna beef, I’ll give him all the reasons
I’ll kill him off this evening
I’ll have his little daughter fiendin’ off the same shit that get his mama tweekin’
Scoop his bitch, do a hit of Molly geekin’ and hit it while we’re peaking
And tell the chick she not a vegan since the condom sheepskin
I’m talkin’ kicks in blocks of cement
Bitch, I’m off the deep end
He got a problem I’m semi auto squeezin’
Take his wife and his child, have his life in a spiral like the Fibonacci Sequence
I don’t be just rhymin’ to rhyme, you should listen more
When I write everything got a purpose and you dying tonight is fullfilling yours
I don’t feel remorse, I battled at Massacre 3, left the current champ slain
Will’s just a last name on a list of people you can’t save
Try to plot on me? Get buried next to Chilla tryin’ to fill up this Mass grave
Let me guess, you run with them crooks
Gun for the jooks
Well fuck a “baow” (bow) unless you follow Allah (a law), like it’s done by the book
Choked on SMACK, done bein’ booked, wasn’t the look
Under prepared, got put on the back burner, but you ain’t done gettin’ cooked
Look, remember when you was cryin’ like, “I thought I was ya gunner Smack”
What do I look like havin’ a couple ehh battles, then a buncha trash
Getting another chance and coming back like, “I thought I was yo’ gunner Trav'”
What kinda pick me ass shit-
Look, I bet he hit up ARP like, “Soooo
What’s your status as far as…gunners go?”
ARP like, “Ahh, you know I’m not really like lookin’ for gunners but NOT not lookin’ for gunners.”
Poor guy, can’t catch a fuckin’ break
His girl broke it off the other day
He shuttered, befuddled in numbing pain
As a well of tears flooded from his face
He said, “What could lead your love astray?
How could you up and run away?
I don’t know what to say
I thought…I thought…I thought I was your gunner bae!”
Look, I know you and Smack got some issues that’s unresolved
But let me break it down from the view of someone uninvolved
You know that needy friend? Can’t take a hint
You go out with the homie, hit a couple bars {air quotes} forget to hit him
He sees your story then invites himselfs and meets you there
That’s how you come across
I mean, he fuck around and got fired from his job
He said, “I thought I was your gunner boss”
He got kicked out his parents house, “I thought I was your gunner mom”
Ask him if he got that call from Smack yet
He react like that episode of Fresh Prince when his dad left
Like, “You know what, huh, I mean I’m better off anyways. You know. Shit
He wasn’t there for my first three battles that wasn’t on cam’
He ain’t book me for a Volume, barely booked me for a Banned
He ain’t teach me how to freestyle or mime shootin’ someone with my hand
And I got pretty good at that didn’t I?
He ain’t taught me nothing about being a gunner that I am.”
I’m sure he’ll call you fam’
Just get on the cards you can
That’s when all this ends with Will saying, “How come he don’t want me man?!”
Just let him be your gunner ‘Ganik
He’s outcries have been real
Funny, he’s facing death and I’m the one outwriting (out writing) the Will

[Round 3: Ill Will]
Matthew the 12th chapter, 36th and 37th verse
It says, “On this day of judgement, people will be give account, for the words they express carelessly
For you will be judged by your words and by your words you will be condemned”
Cause A. Ward was absolutely-
He said he was gonna whoop yo’ ass in Oakland bruh
I believe him too
I believe in Jesus too
Nah, but on the real he said, “Will he don’t know the trials and tribulations that I have in my life.”
I ain’t heard a religious man cuss this bad in my life
He said, “Will. I was gonna kick his motherfuckin’ ass with The Passion Of Christ
I said, “Bro. Chill, don’t be stressin’ nothin’.”
He looked you dead in yo’ eyes and called you “pussy” and told you you wasn’t disrespecting nothin’
If that Christian man was gon’ lay hands on you it wasn’t no blessin’ comin’
But I’m checkin’ somethin’
How do it feel to wanna say “nigga” so bad you can’t say it
Like for real, especially when you at the table, sippin’ liquor
Like, “I’m the illest killa…bust triggers…got him spillin’ little rivers…
Gettin’ money…I’m lovin’ these figures….
My name Illmac you can’t fuck wit’ me….”
See that’s that sucka rap, I done had enought of that
How I feel about his health? Care (healthcare) free, this can’ it a (Canada) cover that
I got a new female shooter, she wanna get in the game
I said, “Baby I already got a target, I’m sick of this lame
I said, “Do it for Ill’ ma. See after you’ll get them six figure chains”
That was the code, I said, “Do it for Ill ma, see (C) after”, I gave this nigga name
Big shit to aim
Bro, why y’all letting me give y’all boy this work?
A. Ward hoe’d you so bad I’m ’bout to join his church
Sittin’ in the pulpit, bitches scopin’
‘Bout to give him some of this religous potion
That Christian Mingle and was about to split him open
The preacher showed you this evil side; Kenneth Copeland
But I bust at him, if I catch you in the hood you gon’ be unhappy
My pops passed me down the mil’ to get it started; Tre daddy
I’m headin’ up and he done said enough
In 10 seconds his face ’bout to be red as fuck
Tell me and all your people about your ghostwriter
Aw nah, I ain’t heard nothin’ I just assumed it, his style dead as fuck
You be on big shit
The fifth kick
If Ill’ in the system but still got the MAC if he (Mcafee) need to fix shit
Hold on, press rewind
I said, “Ill’ in the system” that’s a virus
Mcafee that’s a- never mind
You be talkin’ big, but you still don’t make enough
Thin slice, razor cut
If you tussle with this Iron, Organik can’t break it up
We in different leagues
Yeah I be goin’ from a different speed
I learned everything I need to know in the streets
It’s like Apollo, the old dude from The Office, we go by a different Creed
Hit the weed
Y’all see how I clown this shit
What do I say after every fuckin’ battle?
(Yak Town in this bitch!)

[Round 3: Illmac]
Y’all really wanna believe in the hype
You talkin’ ’bout A. Ward ’bout how he was about to beat me that night
And you believing him, right?
He’s like, “Yeah you know I was about to beat Illmac’s ass and oh yeah, by the way, Jesus is white.”
And you believin’ it, right?
That’s alright I don’t wanna rhyme like him
Matter of fact I’ll tear him life from limb
That whole angle was kinda thin
If I drop an N bomb, it’s nitrogen!
Hold on!
I don’t care if it’s freestyle, he can’t rhyme like me
You throw on a beat and he can’t write like me
Of course he think I got a ghostwriter, cause no one alive can write like me
Three of them thangs, shoutout Chef Trez
Look, hold on one sec’ cause, I gotta question for Will
No jokes, no funny shit, I got a question for real
Between me and you, just between me and you
You ever be up late and night, can’t sleep, thinking like, “Damn…I lost to DNA
Clearly…3-0…no debate
In the first round
I mean it was bad when it happened, but looking back it’s even worse now.”
Man he stepped in that ring DNA top of the turnbuckle flyin’ knee dropped on him
He yelled, “Pontiac” and got his roof split when they put a T-Top on him
He went up against squad, LSC walked on him
Folded in and lost to Pass and well, now his screen locked on him
Speaking of phoning it in, you told Calicoe, “When I call my shooter. Brrrt, my phone rings”
Mhmm, no friends, that’s the life lowkey
I was taught if it’s beef then lay low, scheme, keep a lawyer on the payroll
And shooter [?] in the face don’t leak
Well, he had some friction with Smack and they whole league
When Smack wanted you dead, he called his shooter and DNA phone ring
I bet he be like, “When I call my plumber…I go fix it
When I send a group text, only my phone gets it
When I throw a potluck…well only I show up so I just order Postmates, but I go get it!”
I think you missed the point of a shooter Will
See I don’t gotta shoot at Will, I told ’em “Shoot at will”
It’s practice for ’em, heater on the waist, broom concealed
No hoopin’ skills, just a sweeper in the face, he doin’ shootin’ drills
Are you for real?
Yo I think I get it, it’s no rumor, why didn’t I know sooner?
See nobody will let you be their gunner so you just figured stick to being your own…loser
See it’s fitting, it really was no blooper
Cause he ended up killing his own future like that movie with Bruce Willis ending his own Looper
Which makes sense if Will is his own shooter
“When I call my shooter my phone ring”
I thought, “Whoo! How does he write those things?”
Light bulb: BING
Pressure on, the pipe blow steam
Knife gon’ swing, slice so clean his wife gon’ scream
Eyes roll, she die slow, Psycho scene
I’m ice cold, I know, my whole team’s here so I won’t swing
Cause when I call my shooter:

[Geechi Gotti]
Nigga my phone ring!

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