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lirik lagu devil in a new dress – ill conscious

[intro: ill conscious]
fl!cking in my polos though i never been photogenic
sh*t, the son of the earth from growing like it’s photosynthesis
so consistent as a flowing fundamentalist
remember hip hop? n*gga, i’m reinventing this
(reinventing this) n*gga, i’m reinventing this
(reinventing this) n*gga, i’m reinventing this
(reinventing this)

[verse 1: ill conscious]
never disappeared, guess you can say i was idling
flow resemble oxygen, two parts of hydrogen
survivalist reciting the tightest sh*t when i’m cyphering
enlighten ‘em. you all on the nеt, disputing and cybering
finally got my light again. these artists arе heavy
environmentalists, spitting their trash, then they recycle it
(recycle ish) n*gga, this is timeless sh*t
i’m somewhere between the quran and the bible scripts
these rappers give daps, design beautifully
i bleed passion, let it vibe therapeutically
do it stupidly while i spit this fluid so fluently
usually, eulogies from your foolery, no immunity
i’m incredible, put me on a pedestal
my weapon blow, silence buffoonery on their rebel souls
sk!ll embedded, god, on a different epilogue
i’m considered to have one of the sickest repertoires
got the power to make you listen and show the essence
written sacred as hieroglyphics, you in the pharaoh’s presence
peace to the gods, the earths, you know the message
and if the sky is the limits, you sit below the heavens
[hook: ill conscious]
it’s the conscious hour
it’s the conscious hour

[verse 2: ill conscious]
ayyo, i’m
flipping the cards from the city of gods, where pity
is limited and these youngins quickly depart, where n*ggas
is pitching the raw for additional cost within
the city limits to live in, this really is hard. n*ggas
be thinking so different with the grittiest squad. soloist
see the b*tch in his heart, b*tches be tripping
they tricking, getting it, showing they titties and bras, now every
sh*tty broad be thinking they nicki minaj—give ‘em applause
and i’m laughing at how silly they are. state of
hip hop? it really is scarred. local artists
performing at same venues like they really a star. say i’m
conscious, i’m really lavar, i got plenty of bars
lyrically god, leave my enemies scarred. you ele*
*mentary, metaphors, similes are finger*
*delivery*soft. my pen game vicious, vivid, and dark
stop tripping like a smith and a spark, and while y’all
thinking of radio hits, i’m dreaming of classics
while kids in these guccis, r*t*rded, screaming they ad*libs
you on your orbit? i’ll knock you clean off your axis
don’t need cream or fashion. you can see this my passion
and y’all nothing but a professional circus, a bunch
of clowns, y’all fold when that metal dispersing
i’m spitting with prophetical purpose, my incredible
verses leave you shocked like electrical circuits
from the ghetto, emerging, my producers nothing
medical but cutting like impeccable surgeons
yeah, yeah, this is artist development
with these carter genetics, n*gga, my heart is competitive

- ill conscious

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