Lyrics Ill'in - Young Jeezy, The Clipse

Ill'in

So sick, so sick, I’m sickle cell sick
What the fuck you think I’m doing right now?
I got my Glock on, watch on, clock on
Everything’s cool, no pressure, I’m chillin'
Make them pussies sick, have em caught up in they feelin’s
I be illin', illin', illin', illin'
I’m the type to boast, I’m the type to brag
I’m the type of nigga play a game of chess on his bag
Full 17 blow your chest out ya ass
Leave him on the concrete like the nigga working abs
The way I work that work out, call me a trainer
Throw that water right off the top, who needs a strainer?
Brandon told me don’t bother with forks, I use a hater
Then I let him sit out and air dry;
who needs a hanger?
Airport hours, Sunday to Sunday
Let them bitches fly out the yard, call it a runway
Call me sensei: Jeezy Miyagi
Got a old school whip game: call it Atari
Got some redbones to go out to Phoenix, get that Amare
And every time you walk in they crib it look safari
And they don’t play by that Young Money Nicki Minaj
White powder in the air like 'Bron this for the guys
It was the coldest Winter ever
Middle of the Summer months
Powder to my waist
See my cocaine cummerbund
Tuxedo all white
Something like my prom night
My teachers even saw jail
They ain’t read my palms right
Nah, my future brighter than ever
The flow gets cleverer by the year
Killer minus the tattoo tears
Cause murder don’t mix with the shit
That I got floating in by the pier
Tell Hova don’t pass the crown so soon
Unless he got a crown for every writer in the room
There’s too many spirits on these ghost-written tunes
So you can’t crown the heir until you seance the room
The CL wood grain like trail mix
Evidence of fishscale where the scale sits
No amount of record sales could derail this
Stuffing dead prezzies in the wall like
The Yale bitch.
Inhale this
I’m so sick with it, Malice got bird flu
Sat till drought came;
patience a virtue
Who ain’t know the Clipse get it in like a curfew?
You could smell it on me coke-scented like it’s perfume
Sitting in that church pew, looking for forgiveness
Wishing we had Tony back, now all of us are prisoners
Took it all for granted I guess freedom was a privilege
VIP toasting drinks, making up my spirits
Snitch nigga hear this, lemme make it clear
Eleven hollows in my Glock: whom shall I fear?
And I ain’t gotta tip-toe, I walk without a care
I’m chilling like the hook say,
of whom shall I beware?
Death is not a scare, in fact I yearn for my father’s house
Fuck you pussy niggas yeah, Mal has got a potty mouth
I won’t fuck around and show you exactly what I’m talking 'bout
Even though I walk by faith I’m still keeping that shotty out