"Da Ill Out" as written by Erick S. Sermon, Keith Omar Murray, Reggie Noble and Jamal Phillips....
Yo Reggie, I'm out

D F Squad
Muddy Waters
Don't get it twisted nigga

Ayo everybody in this motherfucker will get touched
Fuck such and such, I roll tight like handcuffs
Rock that ass to sleep with discrete techniques
I beez that, freak of the week like I made Knee Deep
Hold up! Rotate around the solar, badder than Cobra
Composure never sleeps, my stream pumps Folgers
I'm sauteein MC's with fried rice up in the wok
Without the MSG and chopped celery
See, I made it, my flavor situated
From the nickel plated mic that's hot, to leave your brain inflated
Plus, I'm thick like Quakers on papers
Bodacious MC's get turned to lower cases
Lettering, and the medicine, that I'm swallowin'
Get you hollerin;, like Marvin Gaye when his father shot him
In the chest, I roll with two stacks of Tecs
And mad niggas in sets that'll roll up in your rest
Uh! Mister Fantastic's crafted off that 50 sack of ass kick
When I'm blasted, my mathematics get drastic
That you can't see with bifocals
Watchin MC's go up and down like stock brokers
I leave your brains on tilt, with ill skills that's milk
That's rougher than jeans that Gloria Vanderbilt
I'm poppin mad shit, plus I can back it
Your man'll be like "Yo, get that dust off yo' jacket"

It ain't a test or quiz that my Squad can win
Those who know the biz, know we wreck kids, get biz
You'll digest, multiple stab wounds to the chest
Then I copycat, kill the rest
With no method to my madness
Bless the apparatus with the baddest
Determined to be the last man, standin' on the planet
You'll get attached, like a blood suckin' leech
When you fall into my rhythm of speech
Your ears get embraced with a touch of the bass
Head get wrapped up, neck get thrown in a neck brace
Rough rhyme mechanical, lyrical at it who?
Will ironically chronically murder you and your crew
My directive, through where I live, is kinda primitive
See I get to the bottom of the problem, and make shit give
Step in the jam, hooded and high, plastered the master
Cast to the masses grabs the mic
Ten dollar rappers is what L.O.D. goes after (Tweek, Tweek)
To my Squad, there's no matches, we bashes
Do photo flashes in all flavor S-classes
Bomb attack on wax, lyrical mini mac to your back
Tie you up, throw you in the Ac'
A public figure, who walks around with a jaded jigger
Cause I gives a fuck about another nigga, word up

Muddy Waters, yo this is the way that my intro should go
Drunk slow funk flow for Reggie Noble
Fuck with me doe, Mally G doe it's not logic
Playin' that big shit get broke down microscopic
Bring it back keep the track ringin', with the bassline
It's major when you savor my flavor, can you taste mine
Face the nine I lace your spine with short fat pace
Around and round, avoidin' the time to put it down
Now's the time here yeah

Clown where, pick a spot
Neutral grounds or not, we give a fuck, lick a shot

Gangsta, so called killin', cap peelin'
Playalistic, I mean is all that shit realistic
Play your cards God, black keep your hand held tight
Night fall might call your life, shit is trife
On these evil streets after dark
Niggas gettin' sparked left and outlined in chalk
New day, seriously this whole shit's twisted (is it man)
It's me bombin' on these niggas shitlist and Mally G
Open your eyes to see, recognize who be a G
Hopin' to rise in thee, industry with E
The villain's had it cause ahead (word up yeah)
Killin' my psychosomatic pattern mad (yeah)

Y'all know, uhh, yeah, Muddy Waters
We out for nine-seven, word up, peace

Lyrics submitted by ButNeverOutgunned

"Da Ill Out" as written by Keith Omar Murray Erick S. Sermon

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, DELLA MUSIC PUBLISHING, LLC

Lyrics powered by LyricFind

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