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Correction Lyrics
Ill On The Mic
by
Zachary Hill
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Lyrics
Yeah, it’s Zachary Ryan To spit on the beat to make all of y’all cry and “He doesn’t lie and He is just lyin' on the floor 'Cause he’s sleepin', maybe he’s dyin'” I spit it sick and wicked, it’s ridiculous I kill it when I get up on the track and spill this Rapping: I won’t quit it I predict it I’ma rap until I’m 86 then I’m finna dip it Ya f**kin' hypocrite, zip ya lip Or I’ll have my fruity homie come over and lick ya d**k Nobody listens to your music On this beat, I’m finna spaz it Kinda like Taz in a tornado These b*t*hes playin' with my d**k like Play-Doh (F**k) You sold the bag I be runnin' harder than a NordicTrack Don’t f**k with me or I’ll send a warnin' track Better watch how you act or you’ll get sacked in the sack You bettеr stop it Before I pull up and end your lifе I’ma shoot on sight when I see you tonight If you even think about leavin' the house I’ll have my homies shoot your f**kin' brain out When I’m on the mic, bars drop You need to stop, or I’ll call the cops Your rhymes are so bad, it should be a crime For you to rap, now go do your time I’m ill on the mic — no, psych! Every time I write a lyric it’s like jabbin' a knife Into my torso I’m makin' art like my name is Van Gogh Stop throwin' a fit (Fett) like your name is Jango How far I can go? 'Bout as far as Rambo I’m wearin' a hat and the brand is Kangol Doin' a show in Orlando I am playin' the piano So how far can I go? About until the sequel of Lando Commando
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