Slaughterhouse Album

[Royce Da 5'9":]
You herbs we merged, we're an alliance
We fight fire with flamethrowers, why would you try us?
We an outfit, equivalent to Voltron's
That boy Crooked I is equivalent to four arms
Joell Ortiz is the body
The cannibal slash killer, kill you then eat your body
Joe Budden is the pair of legs
He runs shit alongside I, the apparent head
I am the general, bow now
Fuck saluting!
I don't really think y'all niggas get it
Run up on your with a army it is
On until it's done, finished
You got a problem with any one of my slaughters
Then y'all niggas can come with it
Me and Joey, we a perfect fit
He like starting shit, I like ending shit
I don't squash the beef, I don't bend a bit
It ain't intricate
I'm gon' shoot your stupid ass
You too could laugh, you gon' die smiling
Try wilding, I get hostile then I'm violent
I don't make threats nigga I promise
My style is Stalin mixed with sick lyrics
If you hear it, it'll lift your spirit
Turn your appearance into a disappearance
Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Ding

[Hook: Royce Da 5'9"]
I fuck with nothing but gangstas
Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off... HUT!
I fuck with nothing but my clique
Nothing but hot shit, follow me, sound off, sound off... HUT!
I fuck with nothing but gangstas
Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off... HUT!
I put my money on my clique, hot shit
Coming out the barrel of my fifth

[Joell Ortiz:]
I got a raw flow, and I stay hungry more so
Guess that's why I'm the torso
I pour sweat when I perform shows
What I record goes down as the best, but the vets won't let that torch go
Y'all could keep it, they got flashlights now
And flamethrowers, and I got one on my back right now
Remain focused, that's what I tell myself now and then
Don't want to go back to that block like when Varejao defends
Uh-oh, my stomach growls again, I ain't none of you cowards friends
Every human out of my sight before I count to ten
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight
I'm hungry like I never ate
Set a table up with knives, forks and spoons, I'm 'bout to get a plate
All these sweet dummies looking me like a pepper steak
Means we never seperate, we ain't married
Jab it everytime I touch a pen, I sort of set a date
I'll devestate your career, look I'm a demonstrate
Let me get a good breath take before I regulate
(Takes Breath) Okay, bye bye you guys, don't try to rhyme
Cause line for line
What I design is mine and mine
My joint's divine, meaning right behind
And thank God it shines all the light in mine
So my eyes can find a nice dime to grind
Come here girl, toma, toma, take that, take that

[Hook]

[Crooked I:]
You rappers chasing popularity by any means, doing silly things
Buying too many size 20 skinny jeans
The west treat me like I'm really king
I'm Pacquiao in the Phillipines, illest thing niggas seen
You rappers dressing like you fittin to sing Billie Jean
I got to intervene, fuck you I'm a intervene
You loud talking, wouldn't kill a thing
Matter of fact, where's your head nigga? I got the guillotine
Fuck your Hollywood limousine and rented bling
I give you three red dots and I call it a triple beam
I'll put your pad on your property, fag
Properly rob you and hop in the Jag
If you stopping the profit, the glock will be popping your body
You'll rock a colostomy bag
Shot in the abs, moms will be sad
Pops will be mad, doctor be glad
Possibly be stopping the plasma dropping
Clock running out and the outcome bad
Any one of you niggas fuck with my team
Pretty ass thing with the infrared beam
Sleep on that and get killed while you dream
Fuck a rap group Slaughterhouse a machine
Slaughterhouse, a regime
I'm gooned up if you know what I mean
Everybody want to be down with the king
No, no, no, no, no fly zone.

[Hook]

[Joe Budden:]
My one goal's to astonish
Tell the President, VP, (you could) notify the Congress
They say I'm arrogant, pompous, but I'm honest
I tell them keep an accomplice away from the accomplished
They still making threats on your highness
But I tell them where I be, they just ignore the compass
I think all your mans' play dough, I don't buy that movie, Fandango
Fans they know that what? You a soldier to a general
Baby steel, got it in a bag, airtight Navy SEAL
Tell them little dudes I ain't mad at y'all
College kids like Asher Roth
Y'all just trying to put food on the table
While I'm a just come and try to snatch it off
If it ain't for me
Most young dudes would be angrily
But anxiously awaiting bankruptcy
Wonder what makes little motherfuckers think they the same as me
I'm synchronised you and your men should die
Learn certain shit you ain't meant to try
Got the ground covered with some niggas in disguise
Best bet is to attempt to fly
Shit's a game, you down, you in for life
Fuck y'all, I ain't got to generalize
Y'all enabled to write what the pen describes
So when he asked what I meant and why, I tell him

[Hook]

(feat. K-Young)

"This is the life, we gone! " - Royce Da 5'9"
"I ain't with the leanin and rockin
That ain't even seen as a option... " - Joe Budden

[Intro: Crooked I (Kay Young)]
You're nothin without +Focus+
Woo... Long Beach (lay your seats back)
New Jersey (turn your speakers up)
Brook-lyn! Detroit!

[Chorus: Kay Young]
We-we, we lyrical murrrrrrrrrrrderers
Welcome to the Slaughterhouse
(What you talkin 'bout?)
Where we bring them verbal llamas out, bloaw
We-we, we lyrical murrrrrrrrrrrderers
Man, we own these streets
And the freaks they love us
We ain't worried 'bout you fuckers (Slaughterhouse)

[Crooked I:]
Lyrical murderer, blame Rakim
I'm a sniper shootin my way into your lame top 10
Pistol at your head if I ain't next to Eminem
Then I bust in your face like I'm fuckin Lil' Kim
Niggaz better pray to the lyrical lord
That I fall off like the umbilical cord before I fill up the morgue
This is how a killer record
With the double-edged triple syllable sword, I'm iller than all
Dineri, see I'm a literary genius
Bury niggaz with words, a cemetery linguist
Most rappers are comedy gold
They like they boyfriend's sodomy hole - they full of SHIT!

[Royce Da 5'9":]
Now you could walk through the shadow of death next to that shady street
Where the verbal cocaine business and 80's meet
Where them niggaz is backwards
I'm ridin with my daughter in the front with the A.K. in the baby seat
We them copycat killers, unleashin venom
Commit them lyrical murders and then we re-commit 'em
be high quality
Bitches be givin me brain, my dick be deep in they heads like psychology
Independently pennin the best words that were ever said
The mixture of Leatherhead and Everclear
You can't hide, we everywhere
Now, picture a grizzly standin next to a teddy bear

[Chorus]

[Joe Budden:]
Yeah
Hello hip-hop, I am here, you dyin yeah and I'm aware
A beast so at your wake I'll cry lion's tears
And that's no disrespect to the pioneers
If we ain't who you tryin to hear
Somethin either wrong with your eyes and ears
I came in this game screamin Jers'
Ain't an MC in our lane to try and merge
Try and run with our wave
But I'm cool with bein Eddie Levert seein my son on stage
Gun gon' blaze, act up in this joint
And I'm a be Nate Robinson and back up the point
Your run's over, run with us or get run over
I'm here to save this shit, and I brung soldiers

[Joell Ortiz:]
This is lyrical murder
Me and every track have a physical merger
When I stab it in the chest I'm a bit of a curver
So it bleeds to death, like the middle of a unfinished burger
Or sometimes I wrap my hand around his throat
Cause he think his kick is slick or his little snare is dope
Shoot the bass in the face but sometimes I carry a rope
To hang the piano keys when they hittin every note
I'm what no beat's able to withstand
If you suffer from writer's block and your label got big plans
Listen to this fam
Slide a little dough out that budget, and hire the instrumental hitman

[Chorus]

"The-the-the mic, the-the-the microphone" [repeat in background]

[Royce Da 5'9":]
Yeah, yeah...
Too many Indians and no chiefs
I pull out the pistol when I pull no piece
I'm the blueprint - I have your clothes
Lookin like they was designed by bullet holes and shoe prints
When I bless a joint - it's like Spock
Came up in the spot and grabbed the beat by the pressure point
I got the voc' in touch
I tell my bitch I'm a, give up drinkin when she give her emotions up
Too many enemies and no killers
Too many that hate snitchin but know squealers
I get stacks (stacks)
I blam hard with the click-clack, that Antarctica wrist wrap
I spit crack for yard niggaz to get dope
Y'all gotta wait for the transporter to get back
So who's the illest - what you talkin 'bout?
+Die Hard+ like you Bruce Willis when I shoot to kill it
Too many hood guys, not enough good guys
The way you say pussy in plural, is puss-I
I don't be fuckin around on that microphone
When I'm kickin them flows on that microphone
The illest nigga that's holdin that microphone
I put my heart and my soul in that microphone
I put it down on that (microphone)
Turn up the motherfuckin sound on that microphone

[Crooked I:]
But turn it down if you weak on that microphone
Lame niggaz shouldn't speak on that microphone
My ultrasounds show me holdin a microphone
That's on my momma, I was born with a microphone
Groupies love Crooked I on the microphone
Like James Brown I'm a DIE on the microphone
Too many rappers need to leave this mic alone
They on the same bullshit that Mike was on
You're lookin at the unseen, missin and to the unheard
I kill your career with one word (Slaughterhouse!)
You're verbally flirtin with murder, you got some nerve
I lift your skirt like a young perv - knock 'em out!
We the mob, homie who need a job?
Plus I'm so fly tell Derek Fisher I need a lob
Too many in this industry I need to rob
And if eatin niggaz made you obese, I be The Blob!
Fuck props, nigga this a different conquest
Listen this hear me spittin think it's a pissing contest
I'm in it for power, if cowards try to stop me
They better off usin a fishin pole to reel in the Lock Ness
Yes! I got a barrel that'll spot wussies
If you are what you eat, how come I'm not pussy?

[Joell Ortiz:]
You lil' niggaz better come off that microphone
I'm educated but I'm dumb on that microphone
Don't even bother, you'll be done on that microphone
I turn a father to a son on that microphone
I'm a revolver in the slum on that microphone
And tell his R's I don't need no microphone
Too many critics tend to be silly
Too many frogs go ribbit but never leave lillies
I get it poppin like a ineen milli{? }
Now I'm havin a whale of a good time, I'm a +Free Willy+
Y'all lip singers take a pic, click, cheese really
Fans, who their man, I'm they quick pick easily
None of you kids spit evenly
You body my verse is like a thick bitch leavin me
Ha ha, too many fantasies and no fame
Too many claimin insanity and they so sane
Less than wack Scooby Snack lack flow game
Rappers everything I do be that crack cocaine
Your career is doobie wraps, slap Joe name
In any one of them verses say hello to the hearses
Too many monkey see, monkey doers
I slaughter pigs on my tail like Punky Brewster

[Joe Budden:]
Niggaz know I get it in on that microphone
Y'all don't know where to begin on that microphone
I don't see how y'all could win on that microphone
A pioneer, I set trends on that microphone
Decide who you wan' be on that microphone
I see a bunch of lil' me's, micro clones
Too many 20 milligram Vic's I'm on
Killed the web, it don't matter what site you on
Save his mouth 'fore he's runnin off
I tell 'em bridge or a tunnel, give a FLUCK how I come across
All these wanna be tough guys, son is soft
Gun go off, havin like a good show, just spun 'em off
Treat old-timers like fags who drop the soap
They mic got Alzheimer's, forgot that they was dope
Too many dogs, not enough barkin yet
Too many blueprints, not enough architects
Rhyme ain't started yet, still every bar's a mess
FUCK record sales or who the machine markets best
I'm the last muh'fucker that y'all should test
I'm the sharp shooter, you the nigga I target next
Too many frontin like y'all that fly
REACH it, cause we set the bar that high (FOOL)

[Royce Da 5'9":] I don't be fuckin around on that microphone
[Crooked I:] You lame niggaz shouldn't speak on that microphone
[Joell Ortiz:] You lil' niggaz need to come off that microphone
[Joe Budden:] Niggaz know I get it in on that microphone

"The-the-the mic, the-the-the microphone" [repeat to fade]

(StreetRunner)

[Intro: Royce]
Ladies and gentlemen (HEYYYY! HOOOO!)
Slaughterhouse (HEYYYY!)
Woo!

[Chorus: Royce Da 5'9"]
Slaughterhouse in the place to be, see
And we got what it takes to rock the mic
We gon' take it back to when niggaz was rockin right
We gon' take it back, fuck with me? Not tonight
(HEYYYY!) Not tonight
(HOOOO!) Not tonight
(HEYYYY!) Not tonight
We gon' take it back to when niggaz was ah, ah, ah

[Royce Da 5'9":]
Nickel, uhh
Round of applause for the dope boys
Here's to the phenomenal quote boys
Y'all don't understand this a phenomenal brand
The smack goin down like cube diamond on hand
Haha, if that rapper alive
He probably happy just to slap me a five
Homie the game ain't dead, it's just a couple key athletes died
It's why I'm rappin like I have to revive (Slaughterhouse!)
The mix of Magic and M.J. passion
Get in the way it's gon' be tragic as M.J. passin
With ears like D-R, the CPR
The game'll never breathe it's last breath because we are

[Crooked I:]
The house gang, rap's holy alliance
Why you so scurred? I'm only a giant
I do it late night, call me Conan O'Brien
And the nose on my gun look like Pinocchio lyin
Last king to Scotland sippin good liquor
If you're Meagan Good, I'm Forest Would-Dick-'er
Oscar winner, Oscar wiener
If you're flow's Aquafina, I'm Katrina
Uh, y'all say that your pockets are big
I'd rather say that I'm 'Pac mixed with Big
You're lookin at a microphone rocker on vodka
That's why I be walkin awkward, ya DIG?

[Chorus]

[Joe Budden:]
(Joey!) Look, forever had to warm him
Take him to the cleaners, plastic bag on him
I ain't like y'all, I don't like y'all
Put him in lyrical jail with suicide thoughts
Kick the chair hang him from his mic cord
What's the fight for? Never back down
I'm on some bullshit, quick sippin Jack now
Royce on Patrón, Crook got the chron'
Guess what I'm tryna say is leave them boys alone
How you got hope - had nothin to prove
And had nothin to lose and now we got both
Celebration bitches, now we got toast
But with no ratchets, Joell go 'head attack it, uh

[Joell Ortiz:]
Real nigga, rhyme spitter, hoe bagger
Boast swagger, flow dagger, hip-hop toe-tagger
No slacker, I could chill but I'd so rather
Eat a nigga cause he's sweeter than a glass of Goldschläger
Poor rappers, here on y'all won't matter
And I'm out braggin every interview so you mo' matter
I'm the man in the booth
With "A Few Good Men", and "you can't handle the truth" (no!)
And y'all could say I'm nice but I'm not
I'm mean, flow coke with ice in the pot
The fiends gon' go broke, they dyin to cop
My team is so dope you like it or not!

[Chorus]

[Outro: Royce]
We out!
Not tonight (HEYYYY!)
Not tonight (HOOOO!)
Not tonight (HEYYYY!)
Not... [scratch]
Not tonight (HEYYYY!)
Not tonight (HOOOO!)
Not tonight (HEYYYY!)
Not tonight, ohh!
Heh heh...

Slaughter House [echoes x3]

[Chorus:]
Sex, and drugs, and dirty money
On the race to rule the world, you
Cut your teeth on fame and diamonds
Your time is up now
Three, Two, One
(We number) One

[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9"]
Y-Y-Yo, we them Slaughter House rockstars
The pictures black
We signing every titty out, we going tit for tat
Like can you picture that?
And how ironic
Is it that I riding 'round listenin to Nickleback? (I'm back)
On a pill
I'm tryin'a have Rod Stewart cars and Ozzy Osbourne motor skills
I'm tryin'a have a rich bitch like Paris Hilton
That like to get her ass smacked like Keri Hilson (*laughs*)
I'm The One, who you tryin'a be?
Nothing to hide, the jimmy covers up my Tommy Lee
The One, I stage dive to a pot of gold
I'm empty, nothings inside me but Rock 'n' Roll

[Chorus]

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
Crooked's gotta gun
I'm wreckless with lead
Zepplin instead
Let's get a keg
Let's split a mescaline that messes with ya head
I'm sexing a les'
And her best friend in bed
I love these freak women
Something in my demin need a KISS, call it Gene Simmons
They wanna ban me like Marlyn Manson
For all the whores in my Baltimore, Maryland mansion
I'm the one who wants to Spear Brittany
Give pink some black put it near her kidneys (Here kitty)
I'm the one who always cause an affair
So every time your bitch burp, you smell my balls in the air
[laughs] Yeah

[Chorus: (with Joe Budden)]
Sex, and drugs, and dirty money
On the race to rule the world, you
Cut your teeth on fame and diamonds
Your time is up now
(Three, Two) One
(Woah) [x7]
(We number) One
(Woah) [x4]

[Verse 3: Joe Budden (with Joell Ortiz)]
Yeah, yeah
See I'm a onstage rockstar
(Backstage pornstar)
Khloe on the Kar Dash'
(Kourtney on the onstar)
Zoey Kravitz stumbling out the tele in a torn bra
(They dribble on my balls in the whip, now that's a sports car)
Dog, you gotta see him when he drive by
(Cock-eyed) Have all the Ladys goin GaGa
Me? I'm on mellow, so I'm looking for a LaLa
(You sure? I wanna whore, a Gabor, a young Zsa Zsa
The One, a Outkast, I don't need the rock)
So I can put my Love Below by her SpeakerBoxx
(The one, Katy Perry tried to kiss my wife)
And gave me dome and Katie's home, baby, this the life!

[Chorus]

[No lyrics]

Royce da 5'9" Verse:
My triggers is stupid, you thugs is funny
My guns be, goin "eh" for the love of money
Dumb, fabulous rhymer give you luger lasagna
Hula hoop, hold ya, i'll put your noodles behind ya
Take your takeaway - show up before you perform
Hit you in the knee with a bat and tell you to break a leg
(hee-hee) i got the kris kross laugh
A very angry future, a pissed-off past
fuck hip-hop, i target it
I will diss joe budden then diss, every legend that started it
I'm, cuckoooooooooo!
I don't need a hook for this one
They say i'm kin to sinnin, yeah, i'm drama's twin
That's right, i'm vicodin writin with a klonopin
I love stanky hoes - i got a thang
For keyshia cole momma man that show, should be "the frankie show"
I think i need to get some motherfuckin sleep
Every strand of hair on my balls is a bloodsuckin leech
I be 'urlin while you hear - take your index finger
Point it at your head and then twirl it 'round your ear
I'm, cuckoooooooooo!
Ha ha, i don't need a hook for this one!

Joell Ortiz's Verse:
Nope! mr. yowwa, yup, 'bout to go meat fishin
And catch me a crevice, i'm back on the asscheek mission
fuck these petite women, i want me a sloppy hoe
That pussy smell like talapio, call me sloppy joe
I dig your eyes out, watch me though
This is bullshit! all the coke don't fit, i need a scottie nose
A can of beef raviolis, {?} a lid
If i don't get it can cop me yo, and they ain't get a vid
I'm what, cuckoooooooooo!
I don't need a hook for this one
The bitches just bitchin and the thugs is thuggin
The insects is actin like me, and me i'm buggin
I hang jump from the sidewalk, hop over the everglades
Tight-rope walk the equator with broken roller blades
See you shruggin our pizza oven, your shoulder blades
And, throw grenades at your nana's bingo parade
Anybody see my anthrax?
I'ma pour it on my hands, crawl to japan and give my man dap
I'm cuckoooooooooo!
I don't need a hook for this one

Crooked I's Verse:
just look at the show we did last
nigga came out in a dickie suit and a pig mask
robbed a fan and left his pockets on slim fast
just co-operate and save that hero shit for gym class
you gettin smart alecky with the best,
till i cut you up and make a art gallery with ya flesh
challenge me on the west, i put a dodge challenger car battery in ya chest
the son of david koresh i'm, CUCKOOOOOOOO!
i dont need a hook for this one
nigga ask what sicker raps emergin
cursin in church then walkin out back to wax a virgin
murkin a track, killin every feature like im a drunk plastic surgeon
certainly dirty past detergent
i could get sick as ozzy, sick as a faggot fucking the dead body of liberaci
nigga watch me!
if you cross me, heres how your life story would begin
once upon a time.... THE END!
CUCKOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
i dont need a hook for this one

Joey's Verse:
i wana fuck bitches get money all yall do to them is spoil them
no rubber wrap it up in aluminum foil
they tell me im buggin got rappers heads in the oven
screamin jerzy and im usin this for stuffin in my turkey
bumpin red jam, with a prositutes leg in the air jerkin me off
now thats what i call a handstand
body parts in the freezer, what you use for a fever
multiply four million, how im feelin for my leisure
im'a CUCKOOOOOOOO! i dont need a hook for this one
i'm weird im into voodoo, you know how dude do,
towel on the bed, fuck while she bloody and call it soo woo
millionaire sayin lend me a thou when the semi is out,
dumpin a bed for sittin indian style, check it
im on fire try and make the devil proud of me
sleepin in gasoline incase a nigga got it out for me
hang my baby mother off a 30 foot balcony
then look over the body like bitch shouldn't have doubted me
i'm CUCKOOOOOOOOOOOO! i dont need a hook for this one

[No lyrics]

(feat. Fatman Scoop)

[Royce Da 5'9":]
(Ohh!) Yeah (let's go!)
I said once upon a time in a city that's mine
There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime
He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind
Listenin to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design
My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes
I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton
I been runnin shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's
Sit and watchin my green grow, like I'm waterin seeds
The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets
Niggaz callin for peace, they can't even call the police
If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat
Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps
I get indicted after my product's released
We a different form, a different centrifugal force
Every line is like grippin on a stick shift in a Porsche
My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track
I said FUCK a direction, spaz out! Get 'em up HIGH

[female:] Crooked

[Crooked I:]
And for them wack songs that you made
I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade
Explode to your grave - and go straight to hell
When your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved
The role that played, in fuckin up hip-hop
You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain
Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin fade
Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E
With Nickel we gon' make more cheese
Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz (what up!)
I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth
On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef
I'm one in a mil', comin to kill
It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets
Spine on the concrete lookin at the sun
Eyelids heavy, "Why did Crooked have to come?
He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin dumb"
Fully-automatic umm, that's Crooked havin fun
Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame
And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained
Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim
And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same
But different, the West Coast king Crooked I
I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die – get 'em up HIGH

[female:] Joell

[Joell Ortiz:]
Here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz
Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's (Slaughterhouse)
Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze
squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever
I'm like 150 degrees
16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease
A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased
Used to dream about livin now I'm livin my dreams
The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin big as I seem
When I'm spittin this mean, me and government intervene
A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans
I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything
When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene
And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am
Niggaz hate, bitches +Cheer+ like Norm, Cliff and Diane
I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse
I run radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words
I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb
When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like "Word"
City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve
Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve
A shot at the title, Spitter of the Year
E'ry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air
And hold 'em up HIGH [echoes]

[female] Joey

[Joe Budden:]
Work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far
Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars
And that's rate, gettin hate from the wannabe stars
And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb
See that bullet comin from around the corner
Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one
I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill
I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills
For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled
He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed
Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as
No good straight jacket, all I did break the match
They say he talk tough with his fake ass
Four pounds put me in another weight class
+Great Escape+ the +Pad+
Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask
You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?
Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas
Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious
In your whole camp, nobody focused
They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree
You die and come BACK, won't nobody know it
Drive by, screamin it's a new crew reppin
Hangin out the window, like it's "227"
Get 'em up HIGH

[Fatman Scoop:]
Get 'em up high, get 'em up high
Get 'em up high, get 'em up high
Get 'em up high, in the sky
Put 'em up high, put 'em up high
Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky
Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse
Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse
Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse
Put 'em high, woo! Ohh [echoes]

[No lyrics]

(feat. Pharoahe Monch)

[Intro: 50 Cent sample]
Fix your motherfuckin face nigga!
Look at these fuckin chimpanzees
Bunch of fuckin monkeys...

(Mr. Porter!)

[Chorus: Pharoahe Monch]
I been shot, I been stabbed
I took all that I have to give
And I never ran, never have
Just so all you niggaz can live
I never thought there would come a day
When my people would turn me away
And it really tears me apart
Cause I deserve a Purple Heart
Nigga you should salute me, nigga you should salute me
Nigga you should salute me, nigga you should salute me
Nigga you should salute me, nigga you should salute me
I, I showed you what a soldier's about, nigga you should salute me

[Joe Budden:]
Typical Joe Budden shit, ridiculed and lovin it
The hood know I'm the dude that governed it
Paved the way for my sons, laid down the cement for my semen
Ain't my fault y'all got stuck in it
Lately, it change like the weather, one minute they love me
then they hate me; I'm through with shenanigans
I don't care if dudes ain't a fan of him
Can't checkmate a 8-figure nigga with the moves of a mannequin
Talkin 'bout they wan' go somewhere to meet me
Man they just wan' go somewhere to meet me
Easy don't involve cops in it
Got the key to my city, how the FUCK you think you got locked in it?
Bitch!

[Royce Da 5'9":]
21 Rugers
On the hip of 21 goons, 21-gun salutin
Bloody funds is what murder money becomes
21 bodies on all 21 guns
You from the D and you don't fuck with me, you lame
The streets and the internet fuck with me the same
So later for that punk shit
Cause nigga I'll smoke you, that's why they say I stay on that blunt shit
Niggaz'll spray you up before they wet your lady up
Then shoot the baby bassinet to shut your baby up
And I'm in line with the bread
I hold niggaz down doin time in the feds
Pharoahe talk to 'em

[Chorus]

[Joell Ortiz:]
Properly greet a general
I'd have to take steps down to be on a pedestal
I am what the 1-8 after the 7 do
Give it my all but you want more, you lil' beggar you!
Mean it's terrible, I showed hip-hop anyone's edible
Never give somethin that's not respectable
Never spit somethin that's not incredible
Never sold my soul for numbers left of the decimal
I done fucked up movements like cerebral palsy
You don't know me, don't pause me - I'll throw lead at you
Mean I earned e'ry stripe and you know it
When you see me put yo' hand on yo' head and push it forward

[Crooked I:]
Before shots land on your head and push it forward
Eastside Long Beach, I'm only pushin four words
I organize a street massacre
You haters know I broke bread with at least half of ya
Out of town, hundred pound weed trafficker
Got niggaz rockin Long Beach fitteds in East Africa
I been stabbed, I been shot, a imperfect part
Like my Grape Street niggaz I got a Purple Heart
I kill your bitch at the beauty salon on Windham
They take a nap on your lawn on a Louis Vuitton pillow
Waitin for you to run out and say somethin
Come out your face frontin, dumb out and spray somethin
Bloaw! So move now

[Chorus]

[Intro: Joe Budden]
Lord...
Please continue to guide, direct, and protect my niggaz
From the world, and from themselves

[Chorus: Joe Budden]
Lord can you please shine that light on your sons
They sent you a million prayers, you ain't answered near one
{"Ohh, it's a shame, baby baby"} It's a shame
I'm down on both knees, Father talk to 'em please
All you put 'em through is pain, but will it ever cease?
{"Ohh, it's a shame, baby baby"} What a shame

[Joell Ortiz:]
Yowwa! What up world? I'm Joell
Sixth floor, project door, broke bell
Only child, no brother, no sis
Moms runnin out the door to go sniff
My highwater pants don't fit
Afro growin all wild, no pic man
{"Ohh, it's a shame, baby baby"}
Is what my teacher said for class pics
My pops? I don't know where he at
He left one day, he said he'd be back
The stove keep me warm in the winter
I'm tired of Beefaroni for dinner
My grandmoms got a bad liver
I'm just watchin her fade away
Man, I don't know what else to say
So at the end of every day I pray, I say

[Chorus]

[Royce Da 5'9":]
What up world? I'm the SHIT
I'm headed to Hell in a hand-basket
I pop pills, abuse liquor and kill niggaz
When I die, God ain't gon' judge, he gon' deal with us
That's why them reckless quotes come with my drama
My pops while coke-infested, cum in my momma
{"Ohh, it's a shame, baby baby"}
I know, right?
For those nights that I was havin them seizures
For those mornings that I was havin trouble breathin
C'mon listen; I was only a fo'-pound baby
So I grew up into grown and went fo'-pound crazy
Daddy was gangsta, mommy was passive
Boxin gloves for Christmas, I needed classes
My daddy beat our ass, that's probably why we assassins
But he'll do anythang for me; Joey pray for me

[Chorus]

[Crooked I:]
What up world? I'm a lost soul
Challengin the devil standin at the crossroads
I just shot a dirty snake with my .38
He shot me too, now I'm waitin at the Pearly Gates
I seen the angel Gabriel and I came real
A lame tried to kill me, so I aim steel
{"Ohh, it's a shame, baby baby"}
Ask God is that somethin that he can't feel
I had a six-shot popper and I brought it with me
I put his thinkin cap somewhere he never thought it would be
I didn't son him, he's a daughter to me
Instead of hangin with thugs he's slangin drugs, shoulda got a college degree
But growin up in the hood'll leave your mind baffled
We put haters in the past like time travel
That's my murder story, I'm past purgatory
I need prayer though, Joey put a word in for me

[Chorus]

"You're no good I have to cut you loooooose, you loooooose"
[repeat in background]

[Royce Da 5'9":]
Woo! Hello hip-hop, goodbye music
It's like a love-hate relationship
Ridin in the Ferrari while takin trips
Compared to beer takin sips
Sittin somewhere in a Camaro with racin strips
Either way you embrace it
Can't no amount of money or lady replace it
And after all this rhymin
If I refer to you as a girl niggaz'd call this Common
... I'm through as a fan
No disrespect to music, I'm talkin to you as a man
How the FUCK is you flossin a Benz?
Listenin to this nigga Rick Ross dissin Em
Jim Jones dissin Jay
This rap shit done gone a different way (that's right)
I know my lawyers play the lies game
It's okay for Soulja Boy to say Nas' name
Nothin but +Ludacris+ answers
The game backwards like dancers
Shootin on the same dancefloor you grew up and answer
To them shooters, now them shooters is dancin
... FUCK you too!
You corny so I gotta cut you loose
I looked in my book of rhymes, took the sign
I swear I heard a few of my nigga Crooked lines

[Crooked I:]
I got these A&R's heart racin
Got 'em in fear of me sonnin they flagship artists for spittin {? }
This is bar raisin
I'm raisin the bar so far tryin to look at it's equivalent to star gazin
Think I'd rather be waterboardin – you feel me?
Than to listen to what y'all recordin – for real G
Hell naw, I will not support it
Rather switch places with the child mom's aborted – kill me
My skills be on point like a flyin dart
Sometimes I feel like the messiah of a dyin art
A whole 'nother animal, not the kind that departed on the giant ark
But a vulture with a lion heart
I eloquently breathe fire
I speak for the Eastsiders like I got a Long Beach speech writer
And I could teach riders how to do they thang
So they won't ruin the game for comin off lame
We could be birds of a feather, what does it mean?
Think about it, that mean I put you under my wing
Or I'm a leave this hip-hop thing to all you wack dudes
Cut you loose (you're no good I have to) cut you loose
Call me a hater when I'm tellin the truth – expect it
SoundScan is unveilin the proof – respect it
Here's somethin you could NEVER dispute
The last time I spit a rhyme the roof fell in the booth - I wreck shit

[Joell Ortiz:]
Man I feel ruined inside
Somebody tell me what to do, I'm a guy
That loves music but I am truly through with the vibe
Sometimes I wish it was dead, rather than look this stupid alive (word)
I found out I been persuin a lie
It's nothin like, what I thought, man the proof's in the pie
Cause ain't no puddin in the hood when niggaz shoot to survive
But what's my single? Ask dude in the suit and a tie
Who stole the whip? Man I'm losin my drive
I 'member when singles used to have cuts on it
Nowadays the rewind button got mad dust on it
Can't bring it back if it's wack, when they come back then it's crack
I'm FIENDIN for somethin good so I can puff on it
Y'all don't even give me a buzz
I can't enjoy a glass of beer if it's really just suds
Nothin there but the air in y'all heads
Man I'm fed dawg, I had it up to HERE (done!)
I'm cuttin you loose, fuckin abuse
I can't believe they in your talks when you discussin the truth
These dudes suck and they bad liars
This is not what I expected when I was 11 steppin up in rap cyphers
(What's goin on?) I thought you had to be mad nice
But apparently you could be trash as long as you look good and have ice
I ain't complainin, I'm just sayin though
There's no reason a musician should wanna watch a television
Instead of be listenin to the radio
I'm cuttin you loose

[Joe Budden:]
Look, I used to dream of just bein with'chu
Woulda probably gave whatever to be seen with'chu
On the block on the scene with'chu
And the most beautiful thing with'chu
Is we shared the same passion and I could get cream with'chu
Not a qualm, not a problem, not a single issue
Then we started arguin, havin single issues
Somethin's off nowadays, you don't seem official
SO! {"You're no good I have to cut you loooooose"}
I see you with them other artists and it's sickenin
E'rything's changed since we parted, you been different
Do whatever for bread boo when you started trickin
For real though {"You're no good I have to cut you loooooose"}
How you could thug me?
If I can't be me when I'm with'chu, tell me how could you love me?
(How you) Get so ugly - eat it, beat it, treat it better than niggaz
So you still be dyin to fuck me, baby don't interrupt me!
Ain't complete tryin to compete but you judge me
What you really think of me, you disgust me
I 12-step my addict itch
So Method Man, you could have that bitch
But now she got neighbors against me, still her favorite MC
I just hit her hard and she got papers against me
It's cool; I get up with'chu later if meant be
Just text them old heads, tell 'em mate with they memories

"You're no good I have to cut you loooooose, you loooooose"
[repeat to fade]

[Chorus: Novel]
Tear drops in the pillow on my bed
Still Trying to keep my head up
Know you'd rather see me dead
And the raindrops keep on falling
I said they keep on falling
And they keep on falling
I said they keep on falling
(Slaughterhouse Yo)

[Royce Da 5'9":]
I'm the product of when a nigga's mama gives up
Crying lying in the trash with the lid shut
Ain't got no family my mind is tender my
Daddy's invisible my Mom's is Brenda unhh
If I survive I'm grow into what
Society considers trash the rope is to us
That means I'm hanging myself by living
The noose is getting murdered that or going to prison
My minds controlled before I learned mind control
What you call living life I call dying slow
I'm genetically predisposed
The reaper the only thing that can ease my soul freezing cold
Feeling like I was given life and if I take it at least I choose
I'll probably be in heaven when the pain stops
Til then all I'm hearing is wind and rain drops

[Chorus: Novel]

[Crooked I:]
(Cause this is my pain)
Dear auntie I still feel your timeless sorrow
Before you died it's like your body was mine to borrow
Like I jumped in your physical shell
While you was going through miserable hell saying goodbye to tomorrow
Everyday it make me sad, angry, mad how you were sent to heaven sacred path
Duct taped and gagged plus raped and stabbed body draped in blood what a faith to have
Such a pitiful end I'm popping Ritalin like they skittles cause
When I sleep I can feel it again and again and again it's difficult
Killing is the wickedest biblical sin I'm talking about momma's identical twin
I see your face when I look at her
Her reminder of how I've been in the cold
Since 14 years old
Swear to GOD I'll probably be in heaven when the pain stops
Til then all I'm hearing is wind and raindrops. (Rest In Peace Chacha)

[Chorus: Novel]

[Joe Budden:]
Nah I ain't move bricks on the peter pan
No father around to teach me how to be a man
We was too high didn't know when we would land
Scraping coke on the weed til' niggas didn't see a plant
Alcoholic's child raise off of sugar water
Headed to you and just thought about how good he was brought up
Coulda woulda outta one track mind
They say man of many hats buys a hooker for a quarter
And now I'm writing a book and the hoods the author
Called the "Obvious Poker Face The Look of Torture"
Teach you how to climb your way out that ditch then
Me all I need is this pen and thick skin
Being so bright could mean you lit then
Cause you start trying to figure out a figment
I'll probably be in heaven when the pain stops
Til then all I hear is wind and rain drops

[Chorus: Novel]

[Joell Ortiz:]
(Check it out)
I'm still waiting on my did to get back
He went to the store in 84 and I ain't seen him after that
Another single mom public assisted the rent wasn't consistent
So they had us back and forth to court in the months of the blizzard (Freezing)
My sneakers leaned the rubber was missing
No one on ones they always jumped me no brothers and sisters to hold me down
Along with headphones plugged into a cheap Walkman that ate tapes
Gun shots and me sleep walking I hate weights
A whole lot of crying police chalking that fate tape
Ambulance never on time they like a day late
My cousin ain't had to vacate my best friend since age eight
Sometimes I can't hold them I kid you not
Eyes get swollen holding on that tissue box
Somebody get a mop
I'll probably be in heaven when the pain stops
Til then all I'm hearing is wind and raindrops

[Chorus: Novel]

[Intro: Melanie Rutherford]
I'm not afraid of the storm (noooo)
It seems like you're slipping away (ohhhhh)
I'm not afraid of the storm (noooo)
I'm not afraid, of the storm

[Chorus: Royce Da 5'9" (Melanie Rutherford)]
You fuckin with a killa (I love you baby)
You fuckin with a killa (you're so sexy)
You fuckin with a killa
Lyrical, serial, either/or killa

[Royce Da 5'9" (Melanie Rutherford)]
Uhh, I'm in love with this pep
Switch a nigga up, put a thug in a dress
Chop a nigga head off, pick his head up
Turn it upside-down, drink his blood from his NECK
Uhh, I fly across you with the Coupe now
I'm fire! The fire marshal shut the booth down
Uh, you fuckin with a killa
Take your body, rape your body, dump it in the river
Turn myself in then, beat the case for it then
Turn around and put "I really did it" on my Twitter
Uhh, I'm a FUCKED UP nigga!
Pill poppin, e'rybody FUCKED UP with us
Me and Joey the cottonmouth kings
(I love you baby) What the FUCK you talkin 'bout, sing
(Uhh, uh, I'm fuckin with a killa)
So crazy (I'm fuckin with a killa)
(I'm fuckin with a killa)
Lyrical, serial, either/or killa!

[Joell Ortiz]
First the clouds form, then they dark in the sky
Then the heavens roar when a couple of them collide
Then the most toxic rain landed on my
caesar then Jesus Christ, the storm arrive
6-foot-somethin made of Spanish descent
What I write is fresh air like my hand's in a vent
Y'all 'bout to be lost like you don't know where your manager went
That's just a heads up, cause none of y'all was plannin a vic
I'm from the projects, Grey Goose, a crate on the bench
Mike's Hard Lemonade'll get you amateurs bent
Where I'm from they don't hesitate the cannon that spits
Stand by the wrong man and watch your thoughts land on a fence!
I'm the voice of the gutter where your boys serve your mother
And the noise from a clucker puts your boy on a cover
We annoy undercovers cause they never put on
We from the hood, we don't snitch boy we weather the storm
We some killas!

[Chorus]

[Crooked I]
I'm comin with flash just to blast your facemask
Bullets flyin faster than the NASA spacecraft
Get half your face smashed by the click-clack
The impact's a passion of massive plane crash
The mic minister write literature, rhyme sinister
might injure, your nine endin your life when it's the
prime miniature time witness the prime
Innocent lives kissin goodbye, picture the I, givin a FUCK!
The truth (walkin) just walked in the booth (talkin)
Too (often) I put a hot beat in a new (coffin)
For instrumentals I dig a grave
Then drop so many bars around you when you listen feel like you in a cage
Niggaz styles is sour, you makin lemonade
Take a thousand hours to write, our rhymes (Minute Made)
Me, Joey and Joell leave you crippled
Mother-FUCK five cents, but we'll kill you over Nickel
We some killas!

[Chorus]

[Joe Budden]
I disagreed with my shadow when he got on Twitter (so I)
Don't like bein followed so I shot that nigga
A known loner; that's backwards
I'm a loner that's known to attempt to put a comber in a coma
You lookin at the prime suspect, with enough stress
If you can give a FLUCK, then I can give FLUCK less
Obsessed with who I struck next so I set it for
success when I spit cause the vic is my next metaphor
Self-destructive mixed with light lies
If, you lookin for psychotic, I got it
Or DON'T! Maybe y'all are retarded, absurd
And I observe while the whole world tries to act reserved
Need a Oscar, I'll put on an act that's superb
E'rybody relax, it's words
Maybe it's NOT! It's gotta be reasonable doubt (BUT)
Reason don't come out my mouth, I let it come out of hers

[Melanie Rutherford]
I'm fuckin with a killa
I'm fuckin with a killa
I'm fuckin with a killa
I'm fuckin with a killa

[Intro: Joe Budden]
Ladies and gentlemen!
Frequency, I present
The new fight club up in this bitch (Slaughterhouse)
We go by the name of Slaughterhouse
And we outta here, only one rule
No rule, no rule

[Crooked I:]
Joey, no rules, gunshots, no prob
No jewels, niggaz say I got robbed
I'm still wearin my bling
And fuck first class, I fly standin on Virgin America's wing
Nuts hang, knockin down skyscrapers
Take a piss, make it rain, I'm the American dream (uhh)
Make it rain, I ain't Pacman Jones
Nigga, balls and my word all a black man owns

[Joe Budden:]
If you in that man's zone, how you figure to gain?
Can't bowl a 300 in another nigga lane
Better aim, you dealin with a 7-10 split

[Crooked I:] That's Long Beach cause we on some 7-10 shit

[Joell Ortiz:]
I've been nice since "227" man, shit
I am sick and I'm never gettin better, that's it
(Slaughterhouse) Give me somethin sharp to sever that prick
Like a group broke up I will dismember that clique

[Royce Da 5'9":]
I'm a veteran, remember that shit
We some internet rappers, then why you on our internet dicks?
We'll be there when it's war callin
Either we high or we fly or the floor fallin
I'm a Tommy gun – it ain't no best
The rap game like a St. Louis verses New York battle, nobody won
A bunch of fuckin 2's and 3's like zone defense

[Joe Budden:]
[sighs] Please get at dudes Ortiz (nah, you beast 'em)
Hold up won't stop, cain't stop, thank pops
Hard-headed, gotta hit a wall first like a bank shot
Get it clear – a cokehead's a thin line
Between friend or foe, won't let this shit disappear
This fiscal year I'm a stay hot buzzin
With dudes that help me shoot like A-Rod cousin
Walk in my shoes and your feet get callous
From Jersey City to Caeser's palace
I speak with malice just to make sure the streets get salvaged
Real talk, where would all us be without us?
Slaughterhouse no fear - too many dudes
Tyson Chandler tried to leave they team and went nowhere

[Crooked I:]
Like Tyson Chandler in the past niggaz on some bullshit
Royce, tell Preme I got a full clip (whoa!)
Niggaz used to run when they saw Suge's face
Faster than Joey and Joell in a foot race
Now you ask me where the incident took place
Don't check the internet, check hood space
You dealin with some intelligent creatures
I don't touch guns, I draw with telekinesis
No fingerprints on Crooked's mag
I'm mixed with good and bad like the Goodfellas and Jesus
First Biggie and Jay made it
I'll leave a bandana at your murder and make it gang related
The bitch at the Shonie's told me homie

[Joell Ortiz:]
Ortiz, I'm the one and only
Pick a spot, I pick apart you dudes who pick a part
This ain't a movie, I feel bad like lookin at a pic of 'Pac
Niggaz hearts gettin sparked every time I give a arc
To my wrist and it twists like a spliff when I'm sittin in the park
Tall corny niggaz ain't makin a bigger mark
I'll boost drugs, what I does got 'em runnin to get a NARC
You guppies unlucky, you in a tank with a shark
Teeth crooked like my dog who just finished a vicious bark

[Royce Da 5'9":]
Flick a dart through your top hat
Weak MC's you cannot rap; Freq', where the drop at?
Now you mad at Tahiry cause your ass ain't famous
Get it nigga? Your "ass" ain't famous
Quit talkin 'bout me cause ya ass ain't dangerous
They call me Hustler because my mag game heinous
Show up to Detroit thinkin +Everybody Love+ you
And I'm a come and show you that ya ass ain't +Raymond+
Dumbin every line – me fuckin bitches
Like the cops after a murder, they cummin/comin every time
Shell-toes and Wissam jacket, the contractor
Still pushin elbows like a linebacker
And y'all playin - my worldwide bitches
On my worldwide watch, I call it the broadband

[Outro: Crooked I]
SLAUGHTERHOUSE!
Y'all know what it is man
I know you got that "Padded Room", ow!
That motherfuckin "Free Agent" comin soon
"Street Hop"! Yeah, hahaha
You mighta heard the rumors
They thought it was, three quarters of the slaughter length
Hahahaha, I'm STILL HERE YOU MOTHERFUCKIN HATERS!
Yeah [laughs]
Ay, with friends like mine you don't need enemies
BLAOW! You do the math
Let me drink this motherfuckin vodka and tell you one thing
We outta here, OWWWWW! [laughs]
Ohhhhhhhhh, shiiiiiiiii-IT!

[No lyrics]

[No lyrics]