Go Ill

Sipping a pint of hen
Blowing a breath in the wind
Walk until the number 6 steady scuffing my timbs
Watching ballers ride by, trucks tinted with rims
Wearing the same Tommy coat I sported in grade 10
Cold as shit, lining on it way too thin
Get a lil peach fuzz growing in on my chin
On the same corner where I lost 10 of my friends
Throw on my diskman and I'm zoning again
To my baby momma crib and we boning again
Roll a j for a play then she moaning again
She let me hit it even though she know I'm boning her friend
Child support late cause I'm low on my ends
Student loans kicking in, broken again
Like bose hips so I'm smoking till I'm choking again
Walking High Park lonely
Not a dime on me
Feeling hungry stop beside the hills on Stony

Copped a ride to 53rd cause I needed a cut
Shot the shit for a second, Chris faded me up
Stopped to rock the wax browsing through used cd's
Thinking one day these niggaz gon' be looking for me
In nickels park jotting down Southside gospel
Writing verses like I was a Southside apostle
Trying to find myself still graduate high school
Staying on my toes like the old school Michael
Head to Kenwood tipping bums to get my liquor
Pint of Hennessey flaming hops and a snickers
It's called the hook is datch, you oughta try it
Shorty got nicks for sale, you trying to buy it
I might be straight but for now I'll be bent later
Head to Hammercove for some rolling papers

You can catch me on the island or Stony riding with homies
That ain't afraid to ride for their homies
Won't lie on their homies
But niggaz might die for their homies, take 5 for they homies
Cuz niggaz stay wilding for homies, on trial for they homies
Go ill where I grew up at
Smoke blunts ?
Wrote raps ?
Yeah I did that
Trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents
Hands clutched, knees bent
Writing rhymes to see rent
Uppity negro but steadily see dough
That's why I'm shooting off my lines like a free throw
Stalker with a snare
A hundred with a hot hat
Flow kick like a punter, let's call it climax
I make fresh rhymes, daily
Saying you spit better then me, must be crazy
Rob and Helen's baby, born in the 80's
Ride the beat same way that I do my ladies
Soft and sweet, long and hard but fast
Only talk to me if it involve my cash
When I'm on the mic they be hauling ass
Punk mc's running up they be crawling back
Five nine in height but I'm tall in rap
Style fat, Ruben Studdard all over the bull bap
In High Park after dark
Down 53rd blowing herb with university nerds
Watching Bradley slap box on the curb
Feeling hungry so I got me an urge for that