Two Degrees - Illy

Ain’t no revolutions, I just move it two degrees

Then two degrees, then two degrees

Real influence, lead by example not decree

I keep my focus tied to the music and not a scene

And I’ve been through it all, just doing this for sport

I’m kind of getting bored of beating the top score, y’all

It’s Illy man, Baysides boy, Nepean made

Roamed, wasn’t built in a day, this started '98

Since a kid, been scribbling, repping the citadel

No one’s selling out, it’s 2016, what’s left to sell?

But they’ll buy into lies despite all the times I could tell

Where I turned my back on the money and ran like Dave Chapelle

One man army, king of my own mind, a warrior Dothraki

I’m throwing my own party, hall pass it out at class

Greener pasture calling part of me

Quote JC, «Bro, they’re Commodores to a Ferrari»

Vroom vroom, click clacking, chh-chh, straight dapper

Run rings, been lapping there and back around the block

And I got my plan B in the end, if shit happens

That said, name a law firm hiring ex-rappers?

This ain’t no revolution, I just move it two degrees

Then two degrees, then two degrees

'Cause at this point I’m sick of success, did it to death

I’ll do it for life, fuck it, this the shit I do best

And I been sick since Vickick, little lunch and Pikachus

Man, since show and tell, I show and proved

Real life’s the interlude, flashback to my folks' living room

Me at the dinner table whispering

Through long-forgotten lyrics and verses, my folks on the couch

While The Bill or Midsomer Murders play feet away on the tube

Headphones on, Discman on loop, LimeWire instrumentals

Finally gave your boy a platform to rip into

I’ve learned if it ain’t genuine, that image shit’ll limit you

This my story, against all odds, turned a dream into what I do

No revolution, I just moved it two degrees

Then two degrees, then two degrees

From BMXing over McKinnon tracks

Up and down Frankston line, bag packed with Dilly bags

Every school night, without fail, save those for the classes

Can’t say the same for rap, I’m all Ws like Pac, bitch

Son of Bill and Rose, stoned on the last city-bound, homes

Me for years, BPS, one eye on the coppers in plain clothes

Can’t count, close call, forks in the road, on fingers and toes

Fuck it, my luck rode and so, put it all out on the table

Like it’s '05, just me myself and I, digi scales

A plateful of bad news and a peace sign for the faithful

'Cause the past don’t define you, even if it creates you

Curly Wurlys and grape juice, I’d rhyme till my face blue

I’d die just to break through, met writers on the way

Me, Lup and Jimmy Nice, bumping Kanye down Chapel Street

Phrase shotgun, with a pound under the driver’s seat

It weren’t no revolution, I just moved it two degrees

Then two degrees, then two degrees

Through life, I’ve hunted gigs, man, I fought to progress

And turn this shit into a shot, no auto-correct

If I went back to beginnings, I’d tell me, «Kid, you do you

Though you’ll learn the hard way, trust me, kid, you’ll improve»

And I wonder how much the younger me would trip if he knew

Some of my close-to-centre dudes we grew up listening to

How sick is that?

Illy-Illy and Phizzle on the track

One last time for the dynamic duo, man

Fizzle spazzed, hit the gas, red flag turned chequered

Ain’t an LP, bro, this our victory lap

Cut the check, you can bet that the smart money says

Phazes' got next, the way he got now, the way he had then

Road for ten years, wherever the shit take him

That’s my brother for life, and I say the same about Flagrant

Look, it weren’t no revolution, we just moved it two degrees

Then two degrees, then two degrees

From undercut to a mop, underdog to a God

Understated to major, unemployed to a boss

Title-winning form, give it all, catch a breath, then applaud

Ask me what I’m in it for?

Forty-love, tennis score

Always been game over, summer so I guess I took their spot

Well, too bad, 'cause I ain’t giving it back

Zoomed out from a pin on the map to bigger pictures

Had my share of indirect jabs and Twitter fingers

Still carry my city with me, every ounce that I give ya

This that west of the freeway, this that south of the river

And when I say goodbye and my number get retired

Hang my jersey off the Rialto and let it ride

Apologise for none of that, and real rep real

So when you see him, just tell him Al said to holler back, wassup