6 Shooter - Illy, Purpose, J. Stark

It’s uh Mr 'If The-If The City Had A'

Turn the bass up till the place jump and the window shatter

Miss me with the banter, my man, I been a factor

The benefactor with ink — your man’s the missing chapter

Phizzle, this a banger, Illy let’s get it cracking

Twist the fabric of time with a rhyme, my style is systematic

I scribble something so ill you wish that you didn’t catch it

Twist a fat one and sprinkle this here with a little magic

When you and your friends rhyme it’s bedtime, I’m snoring

Whether or not I headline, yes I’m supporting

Flavour drip through the speaker when I’m recording

If charisma’s a disease I could be dead by the morning

My man, we are the entire fuck out here

Lights up, Ryan’s up, fire up the sound gear

Been accused of the recklessness but I don’t dispute the evidence

I just reload the clip and shoot the messenger

Hey it’s that bloke from the water’s edge

One stroke gets your daughter wet

You’re getting served like you haven’t ordered yet

I score a rep by putting verses in the morgue

Till my services are more sought after than a whore’s

I’m getting plenty buddy, how you getting yours?

I’m getting paid the pen and page, add a little more

We smack a stage till it needs to be restored

And I do this shit because I love it not because I’m bored

Moved away from Beauy but it’s pumping through my heart

Now I represent the Frankston line and going fucking hard

Aiming for the stars, been rolling from the start

Now I’m sharing tracks with motherfuckers holding golden plaques

Braithwaite Steeze, Wild animal mentality

And haters getting mad at rappers doubling their salary

They’re talking shit, I ain’t hearing what they telling me

The colour that they seeing’s greener than a stick of celery

Celery

Yeah

Introductions aside, you askin' who am I?

I’m the owner of a gallery, your tour guide

And you can leave with stained shirts

'Cause tryna understand how my brain works is suicide

I got a beautiful mind covered in sewer slime

And if you look a little closer there’s a clue inside

To get past the putrid grime like few have tried

Then you could possibly ruin your eyes

Am I crazy?

You decide

All I know is my rhymes are so pimped that I write them in a suit and tie

I’m Superman flying through the sky

But you guys wouldn’t recognise a hero in a new disguise

Life’s like shooting the dice or gambling

But you just rambling, standing with your hand on the mic

I ain’t battling an amateur, get your calibre right

I’ll leave you pussies afraid like you’re Hannibal’s wife

Check the floodgates (what) that door needs closing shut

They’re like a fuckface in porn scenes, I know they suck

Put ‘em on parole so they can walk free to go get fucked

Get your own style 'cause y’all seem to be clones of us

With no character, boring stoner cunts

It’s so embarrassing, it’s like the Portuguese showing up

The Spanish with Brazil, the whole East is owned by us

I have 'em crashing at will like torpedoes blowing up (boom)

Hit the battleship and all fleets that floated sunk

Quicker than a cattle whip on raw meat drove to cuts

The prodigal son, since fourteen token bud

Still tropical sun with tall trees and coconuts

My art sells for peanuts like poor street folk that busk

The Cartel Team bust with more heat than smoking guns (blam)

One of the finest, If you fought me you only just survived if you’re Irish

Four-leaf clover luck

Uh

If you were gifted then it must have been a lump of coal

But still you’re full of yourself like one of them Russian dolls

If you’re shooting for the top you should adjust the goals

If I walked a mile in your shoes it would crush my soul

Saw you live, who would pay though to book yah?

If you tried to get some girls there then they overlooked yah

Men, men, men like that lame show with Kutcher

Total sausage fest like a trade show for butchers

Uh, this is Adelaide talking, I’m an animal coursing

Through my preys, natural habitat stalking

Just hungry, if there’s beef then I’m jabbing my fork in

At the mere fuckin' mention of a battle they walking

And if not then they got more than your standard death wish

Weird, most of them are sweeter than a candy necklace

Always got something left to write like I was ambidextrous (yeah)

And if my music’s declined.

how come my fans accept it?

(yo)

Chopping up with blunt papes, rocking with a verse

Hopping off the runway, dropping in a vert

Either way I’m rolling, optimal at worst

You ain’t seeing me unless you got binoculars at work (bi-atch)

But don’t get mad about it, be a man about it

Chin up, it’s brand-spanking steeze, hand back the hand-me-downers

Swap those rhymes and swallow pride

They still paying dues off 'em on borrowed time

And cue my flows monsoon shit

You pals dog food, barking up the wrong eucalypt

Six-shooters, grip mics

We see red and blast like a hoover crip

Higher than thread counts on your goose-down dooners, bitch

It’s big kahuna shit, and I ain’t heard of you

Small fries in big towns, man up or sit down

Mercenary spits, hired guns on the disc, bound

To kill by the contract, and keep putting hits out