[Intro: Necro]
Yo...
Don't make me flip on you
Actually you can't make me do nothing
I might decide to

[Verse 1: Necro]
I used to mush thugs and now I push drugs
I knew a kid that put slugs in his own mug
Used to show me his guns
Ain't a cat that knows me as son
Remember violence at only one
I used to watch how my Pops would treat a girl
And beef with the world
He had a bone to pick
That's why my dome was sick
It rubbed off on me
Because the apple don't fall far from the tree, G
You cats keep your distance
Cause your scared I might flip in an instant
When I was filled with innocence
I was still committing sins
Half of you cats are sweet like cinnamon
I shove a knife in your grin
I run with convicts who stick up kids
That'll rob you for six bucks, bitch
We flip right before you expect it
'Cause we were neglected as children, now we're hectic
We shot men and we rob gems
I seen cats that used to clock me, now I clock them
Got easier access to a Glock 10
In case, one in ya face is the only option
[Chorus: ILL Bill]
Necro and ILL Bill
Walk around like murder, murder, kill, kill
Gun up in your grill
And you screaming 'Chill! Chill!'
Didn't have your steel, now you get your cap peeled
This is our life, our life

[Verse 2: ILL Bill]
Ayo, I grew up in the motherfucking projects
My moms says if my pop left
We would have to get a section-8 apartment
The rent's cheap, I see Decepticons at least
Ten deep, run up on me flipping, wanna set beef
That was some faggot shit, me and my brother
Went for do-lo
The only two white kids up in my projects that wasn't homo
I fought every day, beefed with a hundred cats
Way before I started sold drugs and busting caps
Way before I bust my first nut, I love to rap
At ten years old is when I first started to fuck with that
Everyone else in my PJ's who'd rhyme was black
I kept it to myself, continued to define my craft
I used to buy my mother milk, dragging a spiked bat
You fought with me, I was the type of cat to fight back
I lace you with a broken nose, holding the ice pack
Whites, blacks, Puerto Ricans, we was poor, it was wack
My mom's tried her best
I never graduated high school, I learned to pump drugs and pack nines instead
Became one of those violent heads
Have you on a respirator, even though the doctor know your mind is dead
[Chorus: ILL Bill]