Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Kill At Will:The Final Chapter, artist - Joell Ortiz. Date of issue: 29.09.2016
Song language: English
Kill At Will:The Final Chapter |
| Ortiz |
| Token |
| Chris Rivers |
| Kane |
| Hand me a cane, I’m back like Bruce Wayne up to bat |
| Verse Bane, lay you flat like Kane, half steppin' |
| Due to my box, who do I not make look doodoo? |
| Soon as I hop on the music it usually stop (um…) |
| Y’all gon do something to me or not? |
| Been here forever, poppin' shit like my booty’s a Glock |
| Feel like I’m better than whoever you could ever put together |
| Leather sweater, Cali weather, yeah, I’m brutally hot |
| Like clippers on a garbage barber, Gaza Strip bomber |
| Screaming «Allahu Akbar,» armageddon |
| War weapons are strong armour |
| Warm lava fallin' on ya till your forearm’s a goner |
| I thought I forewarned ya I’m a monster |
| Partner, been on this mic longer than Bob Barkers |
| I go bonkers with the metaphor |
| Simile, double and triple entendres, it’s been an honour |
| Wait, I ain’t done yet |
| I done left put your boy lights out, call it a sunset |
| Ain’t even get to my guns yet |
| I gotta young Tech that still sound like a Smith & Wesson drum set |
| Brrrt, blat—bla—back, no more lung breath |
| Coughin', coffin on top of coffins — bunkbeds |
| Take a nap while they play it back, the only way to rap |
| And get dap from Big Daddy Kane at |
| 'Cause I ill and kill at will |
| Teach 'em a skill that’s real, you’re no thrill |
| So just stand still and chill as I build |
| Science I drill until my rhymes fill |
| Your head up, don’t even get up |
| The teacher is teaching, so just shut up |
| Oh, oh, oh shit! |
| My price went up |
| By the time I end this shit it’s going twice as up |
| I ain’t stoppin' till I’m on a pedestal Big Daddy Kane is on |
| And ragin' on anyone who ain’t as high as us |
| I guess I changed us, these are smart raps |
| But the labels see it well |
| I only take the meaningful one |
| Really basic reason |
| To shake hands with presidents |
| Take their money out their pocket with my left 'cause I’m ambidextrous |
| Token is a man, remember it |
| Mark my words like a spanish emphasis |
| (Damn, who let him in?) Man is very sick |
| Ambulance is with cans of medicine |
| Can’t be helpin' him, chance is lesser than |
| Anorexic with random presents |
| Big as Pamela Anderson’s, then you get to |
| Enhance your penmanship and the question is |
| Can you mess with his plan just when it is |
| Manifested with fans who represent |
| Of course not |
| You’re not really up to a whole lot |
| Oh God, actin' like a slow-mo robot |
| Tell me what control y’all |
| Is it money? |
| You tryna get revenue? |
| Five words I never said: I’m in debt to you |
| You roll with contracts, I’m ownin' your ass |
| That’s what the fineprint telling you |
| You don’t wanna be my rival |
| Nobody give me a reason to be killin' every one of my idols |
| I’ma do anything if it’s gonna be gettin' me any title |
| I bet they sick of me, I can tell they’re sick of me when the sickness is going |
| viral |
| 'Cause I ill and kill at will |
| Teach 'em a skill that’s real, you’re no thrill |
| So just stand still and chill as I build |
| Science I drill until my rhymes fill |
| Your head up |
| Pass me the mic |
| I cane able like Kane came able to kill Abel |
| So biblical, chemical flow hittin' you |
| Syllables blow left in you niggas that smoke |
| But this isn’t your typical fictional |
| Releast shit that ever came out of you was your umbilical |
| Tried to battle the mythical pinnacle of rap |
| Pitiful, you’re assed out like physicals |
| And even if I stuttered I would still sh-sh-shit on you |
| See, I can do that |
| Living proof that rap never died and I can prove that |
| Ooh, risen from the grave with the lyric in the page |
| Got the Chi whole city screaming, «who that, who that?» |
| Young, dirty nigga, but a nerd word flipper |
| From my first word figured that I’d burn herb niggas |
| Gotta learn curb flipper what you heard first stripper |
| Selling Plan B pills verses pervert pictures, I’m the man |
| Figured that quitter is filled up with liquor |
| My liver richer than vigor, I threw the manilla bigger 'cause I can |
| I’m spending Mr. Dinners I shiver shaking the winner |
| While my sister’s out flyin' to tropics gettin' tans |
| Son of a stone nigga like Bam Bam |
| Everybody gettin' the back, nigga, like TransAm |
| Born psychotic, the Godmom of mob fights |
| Hard life, step to the plate, it’s a grand slam (Rivers!) |
| 'Cause I ill and kill at will |
| Teach 'em a skill that’s real, you’re no thrill, so ju…*Record Scratch* |
| The God in person, leave the bitch hurtin' |
| Can’t commence workin', prayin' for insurgence |
| Lyrical venom that I put in 'em |
| Will sentence >❓❓❓❓< to prevent when I pen 'em you can never defend 'em |
| Fully gated, start to go in 'em |
| It’s in the genes, you can call the flow denim |
| I breathe on tracks, lethal attack |
| Got it covered, ain’t no need to react |
| When I come through I kick in the doors |
| The cash behind me liftin' the fours |
| Red fluid done tripped in the floors |
| So when you stop bleedin' that’s when my men’ll pause |
| Just 'stand you just can’t withstand |
| The hit span comin' from this man listen |
| Y’all cats dream to expand |
| I’m laminated, baby, you waitin' for wristbands |
| 'Cause I ill and kill at will |
| Teach 'em a skill that’s real, you’re no thrill |
| So just stand still and chill as I bill |
| Science I drill until my rhymes fill |
| Your head up |
| Oh, you want me back on that lyrical miracle type shit |
| You want me back where I started out with the flow |
| You want me back to killin' these bitches quick |
| As they tellin' a bitch to kick it, I’m tellin' a bitch to go |
| I give 'em a chance to rip it, these bitches just stand and fold |
| I’m takin' the seven digits they figure is decimals |
| I’m focused on bigger pictures, they’re tripping on pixels |
| But ain’t no one colder than Ms Snow |
| Man suprise me 'cause I see you comin' with no visine |
| I’m risin', I’m makin' it hard to eye-to-eye me |
| But I be predicting the move that you quite be |
| So why do these bitches use me, I might be |
| Fly as fuck or high as fuck or both |
| Hittin' 'em ridin' cut and jab and hook and go |
| You can try your luck, but I am comfortable |
| Because your timing’s off, I’m rhymin' fast or slow |
| It’s not impossible is it that I’m just hotter when I’m spittin'? |
| Fuckin' hostile when bitches don’t measure up half height |
| Man, you gotta be kiddin' even if it was a given |
| That you could pivot and spend it on a shot that you could take flight |
| I’m a student, I learned from Pun and Em |
| And I’m a got damn chopper and I earned the creds |
| So word to Tech, I’m takin' this to earn the check |
| Joell, tell 'em that I’m coming 'cause your girl is next |
| 'Cause I ill and kill at will |
| Teach 'em a skill that’s real, you’re no thrill |
| So just stand still and chill as I build |
| Science I drill until my rhymes fill |
| Your head up, don’t even get up |
| The teacher is teaching, so just shut up |