[Intro]
Let's go man
Typ iLL Typ Real....

[Verse 1: Typ iLL]
The devil forever talk to me
Sometimes I respond when I feel that Gods ignoring me
Playing both sides of the fence that devils advocate
I sell my soul for success on levels I haven't been (Been)
This rapping is too divine and I'm asking the Lord for help
My passion is intertwined with the sabotage of myself
Long Island boy with a city flow
Shout out to Fizzy Wo
Pat me on the back of my leather jacket after the show
Back of the knitting factory, told me to go
Dropped a gem on me and he probably didn't even know
Goes to show, mass influence what my predecessors bring
I'm a rider for the cause since the adolescent scene
Stress elevated, my back is against the wall
Lock and loaded the M-4 when I'm in the war
The flash banger, the cash flinger, I'm no stranger
To stash bangers insides my mattress, I know danger
Always prepared for a fucker to violate me
Used to not really care but I realize some guys hate me
My team leaning, we blunt steaming a still dreamin'
Living on tour, couple of whores, they're still fiendin'
Chorus:
Scratches

[Verse 2: Typ iLL]
These hoes is jaw dropping, draw dropping, Im whore shoppin'
Nah, I'm playing I love 'em they're floor shopping
Give them a couple dollars and tell them 'bout more options
Black heels, black string, she's sure gothic
Got me on my creep shit like Rubble Rubble
She's feeling nice, she pop that pussy like that trouble bubble
And who am I? A journey man who's on course
Never needed a compass, solo with no accomplice
'Til that missions accomplished, my dedications real
Educated through living, that's how I became iLL
Still with the same dreams that I had then
Only difference now this present and that's past tense
Pockets looking bigger and I'm pushing something heavy kid
We love the haters foreal, big up to Eddie Figs
I can feel when love is love
Only God, he knows the deal aside from mothers love
My bed is made with all the covers up
My shorty want that pillow talk but never that, I know what's up
Heard too many stories of these bitches and those cover ups
You should know me better
In my recliner with my notebook in that stormy weather
My feelings reflect the story better...Typ
[Chorus]