| It’s Ill Bill the abominable, I’m sicker than vomit in food
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| Osama Bin Laden of goons, you’re all mine to abuse
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| You don’t overstand me, homie, you not in my shoes
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| You not built for these weapons I use
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| The most focused, La Coka Nostra overthrow culture
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| Murder monarchs, overdosage of my murder mosh parts
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| Hard like hitting cars with bazookas
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| Been the future, crucial manoeuvres confusing to the usual consumers
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| Who you fooling? |
| The people are restless
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| You’re like a Judas Priest molester being castrated screaming for vengeance
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| At the cathedral bleeding appendages rendered offensive
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| Medical attention denied, you bled and you died
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| Nowadays kids pose on the front page of the newspaper
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| Holding automatic assault rifles
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| We’ll send you to God, we’re all lifers
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| Contradictory at times we all devils and we all righteous
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| Hey young world, streets are cold
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| They’re washed in blood, not paved in gold
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| Once they get a grip can’t break your hold
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| A walk with the devil can’t save your soul
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| You’ll be everywhere like air
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| Every year you should see me
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| Industry in the streets, anywhere but your TV
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| This little attempted murder case couldn’t keep me
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| I still be overseas like Blood graffiti
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| Put a Decept to death, don’t get it twisted
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| ? |
| cause I look so good in it, go get your biscuit, bitches
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| If you don’t like it or love it, ain’t gotta like it, I love it
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| We can fight, I like punching you niggas' lights out in public
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| The sight of a lot of your blood’s like a stop sign
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| And when I’m done I’m like, «Ugh, fucked up my Nike Ones.»
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| It’s Mr. Monster, Mad Rocco, pop toast
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| Pop ex and finger pop hoes at the same time, homes
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| Worldwide bootcampian champion
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| Mac 4s branch in charge of them cannons
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| ? |
| St. hands that are blamming and training the animals with the flammables
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| While y’all niggas all romantical bitches
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| In the cauldron of chaos and violence I’m conditioned with this vicious habit
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| Broken dishes, liquor bottles in my kitchen cabinet
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| Empty baggies, pill residue, prescription plastic
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| You’re witnessing the withdrawal of a twitching addict
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| These streets is like a twisted labyrinth
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| I’m dripping liquid in the glass, pour it from the bottom of a fifth of Havoc
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| In the midst of madness I switched it and spat it
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| ? |
| paper dripping and lyrics scrawled cryptic and scattered
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| I write, I’m alright, it’s just savage, hustling and switching rackets
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| So I can stay a step ahead of all you snitching maggots
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| Of course I’m shooting to live rich and lavish
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| But your outfit ain’t about shit, we’re cut from a different fabric
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| The sin is addict, it’s cinematic, I been erratic
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| Since I heard the corner call and went and had a glimpse
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| I hopped the fence and hit the ground running when I fell
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| Now I dwell in purgatory just a block away from Hell
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| I keep fighting war, I keep writing raw
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| Keep classic shit updated, Street Fighter 4
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| You a sucker for love that keep wife and whores
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| Drive an Acura Integra, so ‘94
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| I’m so shiny boy you can look at the watch
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| Don’t look too long duke, you might get shot
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| Gun blast, bullets rubbing your bones
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| Shoot a guy in a suit and tie, nigga, I am Brother Mouzone
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| Ain’t nobody fucking with mine
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| David Patterson can’t see so you know we rob the government blind
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| Stuck in the grind, niggas still hustling dimes
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| Hustling dubs, Ruckus get you stuck for your shine
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| Rugged is prime, you are a thing of the past
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| Leader of the new school, I did my thing in the class, P |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hey Young World, artist - Ill Bill. Album song Howie Made Me Do It 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп