Lyrics:

(Intro)
Yo, yo wassup
Theres a lot a like now

(Verse 1)
First we step on stage, don't give a fuck
And if you don't like my record it's your hard luck
My names schoolly d, I'm running amuck
I tell you where to go and what to suck
I'm b-boy tough and I'm b-boy hard
My .357 is my calling card
I was born and raised on parkside ave
Chilling was the cool and the coolest of bad
We get Ill!

(Chorus)
C'mon and get Ill!
C'mon, c'mon and get Ill!

(Verse 2)
Like a .357 pointed at your head sucka!
I know you from the past, so i'll call you mothafucka
Code is cutting and I'm saying some rhymes
Don't realize these rhymes is mine
The DJ is cutting and he's a friend of mine
Kicking out parties, sipping Coqui 9
In the b-boy stance making ya dance
You gots to call him code, but I call him lance
Kicking on 1200's is the life long dream
Knocking out all suckas, making young girls scream
Get Ill!

(Chorus)
C'mon, c'mon and get Ill!
C'mon and get Ill!
We get Ill!

(Interlude)
Yeah, yeah we're getting Ill
You know what I mean?
You know what I'm saying?
Code on the table, get Ill man!

(Chorus)
We get Ill!
C'mon and get Ill
Get Ill!