ILL BILL, O.C., Jeru the Damaja - The 3 Wise Men lyrics

I never liked Imus
Always thought he was a dickhead
The media want to try to
Censor my lyrics instead
I'd be a fucking idiot if my
Lyrics didn't reflect the pain
Caused by a world-wide business of death
Blowjob from your mother and wife
At the same time
Sit back, recline with my cocaine rhymes
Heroin beats
Like Extra P, let the rhythm hit 'em
Terrible heat
Relentlessly, effortlessly hit them
Street villainess we the chosen of man
Now get in the van
I get it cookin' like meth in a pan
Tie your arm up with a belt
And inject in a scab
Round trip to the drug spot set in a cab
Rolling Stone concert flicks
Thousand dollar chips
Model chicks with a ton of
Tit's and hypnotic hips
Get sprayed at your table at the Babylon club
Left dazed, mangled, disabled
And splattered in blood

Me and Bill are both martyrs
Flows so similar to Harvard
Books inside libraries
One step beyond smarter cajun hot
We throw it up like a
Half-court lob into the quarter
When the shot clock does 'em
So sick, fuck around, become a victim
Don't blame me
Young cats put themselves in this position
You're facing a dilemma
There's no telling when you might
End up face off with a nutcase and a sinner
Embrace this and parish
Face that shows terror
No punches or edit's, I rival up the devil
I walk past everything falls dead
Verbally spreading my medula
Ho store beats release unchained mechanics
In the form of bar with the music
Join us and permantly sleep
'cause you're onpoint
Two guns, mean OC and BILL
We're double-jointed

The rhyme alchemist, hip hop scientist
Mix bombs in a lab like an Al Quada terrorist
My shit narcotic from start to finish
I knock out so many teeth I
Get kick backs from dentists
I feed MC's to the vultures, man
While their chicks' asses up in
The air like Shin Chan
Wanna test this? Have a good medical plan
Cause I bash you in the
Dome like Captain Caveman
And this dope's a billion bucks a gram
I wipe the blood off my mic
And fuck a female fan
You never thought you'd see me, Bill
And O on a track
So dope The DEA thought it was crack
When it comes to rockin a mic I do work
So many exotic feats they
Call me Captain Kirk
Shit-faced like the jerk
My shit's a street sweeper
But your shit just squirt