Ill'in - Young Jeezy, The Clipse

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