T.I. – “I’m Illy” [Audio, Lyrics]

Throwback to “I’m Illy” by rapper, T.I. The song was produced by Chuck Diesel. Stream, buy, read the lyrics, mp3 download.

T.i. I’m Illy

Although the newest generation of Hip-Hop fans may view Future, Young Thug, or even Playboi Carti as the most influential artists to come out of Atlanta, there’s no debating that T.I. once firmly held the title of “The King of the South.” With three back-to-back number one albums between 2006 and 2008 as well as a classic movie in the form of 2006’s ATL, T.I. had the mid-2000s in a chokehold

Having debuted atop the Billboard 200 with career-high first-week sales of 568,000 copies, Paper Trail pumped out eight singles, including the multiplatinum-certified songs “Whatever You Like,” “Live Your Life,” and “Dead and Gone.” Yet while any of those songs would make a great throwback, the album’s second track, a braggadocious song titled “I’m Illy,” is worth revisiting as well. T.I. was commercially unstoppable from 2006 to 2008, and you can hear his confidence oozing from every line on “I’m Illy.”

T.I. – I’m Illy (prod. Chuck Diesel)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Rebel for the hell of it, hella rich
Never have to sell a brick again—must I tell a bitch again?
The bullshit, I’m addressing; check, I’m on some next-level shit
Never been fucked in the game: I’m celibate
Rarely out my element, barely out the ghetto with
One foot out and one foot in, intelligent as fellas get
Listen, let’s settle this; be clear—
I could fall back seven years; still, it ain’t no one ahead of me
Consider it a blessing if you get to stand next to me
Five-star general, OG veteran
Caked like Entenmann’s, blowing that celery
Stack that cash like the U.S. Treasury
Every single thing I ever did was done heavily
Rap until you’re seventy, still ain’t no catching me
Put it on my pops, Big Phil, and Beverly
Be standing on the top still after they bury me
Nose in the air: So stuck-up, arrogant
Ain’t got long, hot songs: Best cherish it
‘Cause when I drop mine, that’s over: finito
You payin’ for your foul like a free throw—bow!
Now, how could a nigga think that he could see me?
Other than the magazine covers or the TV?
Know I sold more mixtapes than your CD
You’re waiting on your big break, praying you could be me
And you ain’t made it far as D.C
On the low, I been all around the globe
Like a god, how they treat me
Broads hit they knees, eyes closed when they greet me
Mouth wide open, just begging me to skeet-skeet
You in a deep sleep—stop dreaming
I’m six albums in; for ten years, I been firing hot semen
The limelight’s mine, I’m gleaming, beaming
Ask why I say I’m king? Bitch, I got my reasons (Hey!)

[Hook]
Wrist so frostbit (Yuh), neck so chilly (Bling)
All on my mind is to get more millys (Guap)
Niggas talk shit, that’s silly (Ha)
“Shawty, he ain’t about that, really” (Nah)
“Is he?” (Ayy) Nigga, I’m illy! (Yeah)
Haha! (Haha!) Haha! (Hey)
Ayy, I run this city, clearly (Bankhead)
Ayy, tell ’em, “Get lost, I’m busy” (Beat it!)
Really? (Yuh) Nigga, I’m illy (Ayy)

[Verse 2]
Where niggas get off? Piss off! (Yeah)
Me and mine ought to take time to pop a lid off
Shit, all over the whereabouts of me
Is y’all sick in your fuckin’ mind? You figuring I’ma fizzle
Never cooled off: Tip scorching
Minimal injury, though they wishing me maximum misfortune
Number one, hands down; flows paint portraits
Everybody thinks you stink like horse shit
House full of chicks on some Girl Next Door shit
A king of oneself, thirty mil’ out the store, quick
Of course, this case—lost all my endorsements
Tripled up on real estate, still buying more shit
But Tip bankrupt, according to your sources
I’m still caked up, along with more reinforcements
Tore shit up from the lobby to the rooftops
Officially the hottest nigga rapping since 2Pac
‘Fore you rap ’bout me, best ask ’bout me
I’m out my fucking mind, need counseling
Please, don’t doubt me; trust me, drama ain’t nothing
It’s all fun and games ’til somebody start busting
Limit my discussion when rappers be battling
I find out about it, better get to skee-daddling
Pack your family bags, move ’em out to Seattle, and
We ever cross paths, you’ll need ambulance and bandages
Live life glamorous, so extravagant
Mandarin, Oriental, worldwide traveling
Hip-hop champion for real, though
You couldn’t fuck with me with a Brazil ho, nigga
But still, though (Hey! Hahahaha)

[Hook]
Wrist so frostbit (Yuh), neck so chilly (Bling)
All on my mind (Hey) is to get more millys (Guap)
Niggas talk shit, that’s silly (Ha)
“Shawty, he ain’t about that, really” (Nah)
“Is he?” (Ayy) Nigga, I’m illy! (Yeah)
Haha! (Haha!) Haha! (Hey)
(Ayy, just remember, I do this shit when I want to, nigga. It’s me, nigga!)
Ayy, I run this city, clearly (Bankhead! Zone 1, homie!)
Ayy, tell ’em, “Get lost, I’m busy” (Beat it!)
Really? (Yuh) Nigga, I’m illy (Ayy)
Wrist so frostbit (Yuh), neck so chilly (Bling)
All on my mind is to get more millys (Guap)
Niggas talk shit, that’s silly (Ha)
“Shawty, he ain’t about that, really” (Nah)
“Is he?” (Ayy) Nigga, I’m illy! (Yeah)
Haha! (Haha!) Haha! (Hey)
(I don’t wanna hear shit ’bout “I can’t rap like this when I ain’t good as that one”—nigga, fuck you, partner!)
Ayy, I run this city, clearly (Bankhead!)
Ayy, tell ’em, “Get lost, I’m busy” (Beat it! Yeah)
Really? (Yuh) Nigga, I’m illy (Ayy)

[Outro]
Yeah (It’s the King, bitch!)