Verse One:
Ok, You’re ill, but being ill never paid the bills
So instead of taking pills, you should get on making mills
The heavy shit I drop will give a feather-weight the chills
If he’s ill, I could help but the medications kills

[Ha ha ha] F.C’s the initial
Ain’t a referee in any league this official
But honestly, I’d rather blow trees than a whistle
I’m as ill as aids homie you’re a sneeze or a sniffle

Plus, my weeds purple like squeezing a nipple
My crew stay cool like the breeze is my biffle
I got what these rap cats need Like
Kibbles n bits- I’m the sickest thing since syphilis bitch

And my mission is this, Run this whole rap race
In a sprint don’t stop till the ribbon is ripped
Now that’s ill, shit I’m the sickest in the booth
Tell Webstar I’m coming for his chicken noodle soup
LIKE RRAH
Chorus- I’m Ill

Verse 2:

Alright Look, Sam Adams your auto tune’s very sweet
But in Queens we chug forties, and pussies drink cherry wheat
I’m aware I have no class, I play hookie like every week
Your a rookie and I’m a beast, I go wookie on every beat

Now lookie you don’t compete, throw a book at me fuckin’ geek
I ain’t scared to hit a bitch, you’ll get Snookied up in the street
Fake rappers get devoured, just look at these fuckin’ teeth
I’m St. Nicholas and they just the cookies I fucking eat

Look, I don’t love college, I had the fall tuition
But I spent every cent on my Adderall addiction
My brothers like,”Mom, my hat and ball are missin
And why is Frankie bouncing off the fuckin’ wall and twitchin?”

Listen, liston, shrooms are what I trip on
Any whore coming for my balls will get stiff-armed
Any rapper claiming he’s the bomb will get disarmed
And treated like the toilets that I take my fuckin’ shits on

Chorus- I’m Ill