(Verse 1: Ill Bill)
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 tits and hypnotic hips
Get sprayed at your table at the Babylon club
Left dazed, mangled, disabled, and splattered in blood

(Verse 2: O.C.)
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 edits, I rival up the devil
I walk past everything falls dead
Verbally spreading my medula
Hot store beats release unchained mechanics
And display and form of bar with the music
Join us and permantly sleep 'cause you're onpoint
Two guns, mean O.C and BILL, we're double-jointed
(Verse 3: Jeru The Damaja)
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

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