Trouble Shooters

[Ill Bill] We them trouble shooters in bubblegooses, hit you with double Rugers Son we ruthless, guns and goon flicks, we run this goon shit Slit your throat and fuck you with pool sticks, too sick Super gruesome, intrusive and abusive, shoot you with uzis Ill Bill, cult leader, a/k/a the ultimate assassin Show you how to turn a broken cell phone into a ratchet Veterans of stone, venomous and cold Terrorists with messengers of chrome, settlements explode Apocalyptic face off, Babel to Bilderberg, witch's curse Pistols burst, incestuous sisters flirt Seduce you in Lucifer's church, crucify you, kiss the dirt Information is power, now put that shit to work; let the light be revealed From the Triple Stage Darkness to the Seven Seals Ebbets Field, forever real, rebels kill Devil's fill your glass with forbidden fruit Hidden truth Vikings drink blood, gangsters drink gin and juice I'm surrounded by preachers of porn, preachers of war, leaches and whores Billionaires with features in Forbes, the creeps and the crawls Reaching across to touch my enemies with a sword Put them in they place, represent the deceased with a corpse With a silver dollar left behind to lay on his eyes For the boatman at the river Styx to pay for his ride Saudi businessmen front terror from their American summer homes While W lay nude in a coffin for Skull and Bones Undertones never dumb though, he played the villain Dumber people think you are The more surprised they are when you kill them [Sick Jacken] A never-ending war descending us all, epitome of enemy brawls Send you to Hell and through heavenly doors Lebanese arms to sever the devil, heavenly cause The deadly spar, immortalized in felony bars The melody's dark cause of the death metal he brought And caused by total meth bark, of seventeen blunts Yeah the streets got a, lot of heart and soul and the Sicksider Make the block hotter than Hell fuckin with my mind It's not a game, the Sick and Infamous is born insane You do it wrong and they respond with pain Heroin vein, the pigs stink they're all the same Homeland terror got named, the federal came So it's troubleshoot, reprogram cannons to damage jaws Banned hammers from shooting bandanas and camouflage We killed the man for status, or dead president mathematics And now we shake the fans tryin to get at it [Sean Price] I was a small crack packin' to the wall jack macking All swollen on parole, now I'm back black rapping Soon as I came home I went to my man crib He give me a quarter brick - get it how you live Momma I want to sing, momma I got to sling Delaware trips made a nigga feel like a king Bling bling, karats on my neck now Carrots in the cup after doing ten sets Been fresh since Brandy was fuckin' with Ronday And brown Macy bags used to cover the Con-way Matter fact when Willis was fuckin' with Charlene I wrote my first rhyme and since then every bar's mean Sean Price, the best rapper in New York And plus 49 states, nigga my rhyme great Primate, Sean Don Cornelius It's maximum stupidity, par mall silliest My gift of gab is a gift from God I will, get you stabbed and get you robbed P~! [O.C.] On wrong, four-four long Sean Price didn't give it as a gift on some Brooklyn shit Cracked the box with Gemstar then tossed the ox Slip on my Nike Shox, snatch a Guinness from icebox Michael Jai White, felony spawn, hell if I'm gone Fuck atonement for my sins, enemies I'm comin for 'em On the run like Lucas, preventin niggas from reproducin Heirs to thrones so I cut short your feature "Soliloquies of Chaos," trouble shooters what they are Bill sends you commission for facilitatin the seance My mans Sick guardin corridor two These +Game of Death+ levels does not include Bruce One thing fo' sho' is a foot in the chest Like Abdul Jabbar, black shades, arms crossed So goes the process of elimination Bound, gagged, and wired up for detonation {*explosion, glass shattering*}