Ill Bill - The Full Monty lyrics

[Verse One: Ill BIll] Crack you like a twig, you're like a f*ggot rockin a wig The adopted kid, obnoxious stepchild, your real mom's a pig That's how I cla**ify these dumb crabs, a bunch of scumbags Quick, to pull a gat but look at that, your gun jams c*ntrag You come in handy when the p**y's bleedin' But YOU the p**y bleedin right now, but no you ain't dreamin' Just because we righteous doesn't mean we ain't schemin' How the f** you think we k** devils and slay demons? You be the type to smoke cats who dip they blunts in semen We hit your wife off, barely heard that s*ut screamin PCP and marijuana had a dusty meetin' last evenin' Oh sh** I think your moms beepin' Word that's her number no doubt, yo I'mma break out First I get some Chinese takeout, then scope Jake out Parked on the corner of your mother's building, waitin for me But I broke out before the story and those devils never saw me [Verse Two: Goretex] To my kid Sultan the Shiek, rap freak, sew all you tricks in heat We'll crack your meat for bein sweet, don't even try to sleep I'm full length, you're a snippet tape, I bend a state But you trade in Jakes while your a** inflates, it dictates What a f*g you are, upper drag stag of Zanzibar Rockin tennis shorts, a pro at cub sports like Benetar f** a figure four, I lace 'em with a clean and jerk Smoke a f**in pound and watch these cats go berzerk I terrorize all cities, you bout to feel my work Mexican cats in shades, heavy D.A.'d from planes Then the ba** pumps like Flavor Flav, how {?} seems on dark days Federal agents on fatal car chase Drivin the flatlands until I hit Ralph, caught the stench In the rotten projects, bag a left and I'm out [Verse Three: Ill Bill] Non Phixion be the Full Monty, Zoo York like Vinnie Ponte Or Noam Chomsky nah, f** it like Phil Bronstein I'm ill constantly k** with the velocity of T3 Three years before the movie got out And Jack Ruby be with the gat out, gotta give a shout out Goretex, Tec 8, engineerin this, steerin this It's like Columbo, or William S. Burroughs drug code Smell the gunsmoke, you get your thumbs broke, like uncut coke With no clientele to sell it to, internal revenue Has made levels to, train out thought, we takin over airports Get slain for sport, poppin champagne corks like Puffy Non Phixion, vampire slayers like Buffy [Movie clips follow for the rest of the track]