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letra de slaughterhouse - joe budden


(feat. crooked i, joell ortiz, nino bless, royce da 5’9″)

[joell ortiz]
aiyyo joey what you said, 24 right?
aight cool, i got you

uhh, i define gutter – every time i rhyme
i climb up another notch, hip-hop got my spine smothered
but i’ll be fine brother – my mind hovers
above all you jive suckers wishin, that’s word to my mother
you throw a shot at me, i’m throwin a shot back
yours is on a joint, mine’s whistlin by your top hat
yeah i’m cool but you violate and i’ll c-ck back
open the mac’s mouth and black out like i do not rap
i’m sick and tired of n-gg-z lyin
they fifth is lyin in the second drawer next door to some bullsh-t they iron
y’all be makin up stories the little kids is buyin
i do everything my +penn state+ like a nittany lion
i ain’t gotta mention the streets on a song
to get in a n-gg- -ss on these beats like a thong, pause
veterans co-sign me, the up-and-comers scared
the pretty girls go “papi, here’s my underwear!”
never in a hundred years i thought i’d be a rapper
but in less than a hundred bars i knew i’d be a factor
i’m ps4 in hd and the screen is plasma
you’re atari 2600 with a weak adapter
between us the gap’s so crazy
i’m gucci, louis v; you’re gap, old navy
i get coochie in the v, you attract no ladies
you’re suburb, i’m gutter where the gats go crazy!

[nino bless]
look, you know, look
f-ck a lecture, ain’t tryin to be pun’s successor
that term’s done f-cker, what up whatever
you birds is food, i’m about to pluck some feathers
i’m young and clever, plus clutch under pressure
yup! who does this better?
walk around with medal all on me like the front of shredder
i l-st for cheddar you owe me
leave holes in your vest that’ll open your chest like a sunken treasure
i’m somethin, like a phenomenon
droppin bombs for fun then dine in h-ll during ramadan
whatever i’m rhymin on or whoever
i tear ’em apart; swear on my pops
no, fear in my heart, sh-t, been through it all
done swam with the sharks, snapped fins with my jaws
i’m all that, and a bag of the baddest piff
off of a brick of hash mixed with acid hits like sick cracker sh-t
get back, dumb birds i ignore the hype
click-clack, yung berg’d if you flossin ice
dawg, cross me twice, can’t afford the price
it’ll cost you, i’ll off your life!
you soft, i told you i’m raw white when i’m on this mic
still mourn at night, don’t wanna see mornin light
and i feel like i’m forced to fight
when the (chips) are down like ponch fallin off his bike (ahhh!)
of course my metaphors are type awesome, right?
i got ’em in awe, my aura’s jordan like
what’s really poppin? who diddy-boppin?
you wasn’t really, now you all common and really conscious
i ain’t with that silly nonsense, i really pop sh-t
my gun stay c-cked like biggie’s optics
i, i stay evolvin but grown bitter
on your grave they’re carvin “f-cked with the wrong n-gg-”

[crooked i]
i don’t write i kill a pen, leak its blood on the page
i breathe bars like oxygen locked my lungs in a cage
instrumentals get f-cked on the stage
a pedophile unless i dig in the crates and f-ck with somethin my age
forever vow, to never smile when i’m at peace
only when i’m eatin the deceased like quiche
only when my enemy’s internal organs are a smorgasbord in a feast
the dahmer with melanin led ’em in the belly of the beast
you’ll be missin until fishermen see your corpse
i’ll be in michigan stickin a chicken in my michelin
ready to pigeon pitch again from switzerland to new york
i was whippin bentleys before them pictures up in the source
i’m a gorillas behind these bars, on some zoo sh-t
shoot you while you’re talkin on some news camera crew’s sh-t
sicker than flyin in past tense on some flu sh-t
day-old -sshole flow, i drop new sh-t!
exclusive! you don’t want it in fact
i’ll have the doctors operatin on the front of your back
tryin to keep your stomach intact
the spiritual you, leavin your body, he don’t wanna go back
that’s when the tunnel go black; i send your soul to the atmosphere
f-ck outta here, and your ringtone rap career!
it’s crooked i, the face of eastside long beach
put your ear to the street so you can hear my heartbeat

[royce da 5’9″]
nickel! yeah
i hope n-gg-z know i’ll show up to your show
i’ll show up where you go, show up to your do’, fo’s will explode
sh-lls ‘fore they hit the flo’, i know n-gg-z know
i got a open window flow, i air sh-t out
in the d they used to call me mayor royce
now they call me clay davis
guess why? “sheeeeeeeeeeee-it”
cause when it come to them words you know i wear sh-t out
i write rhymes like, white lines on a nose tray
ice cold ice cube flow like o’shea
ridin shotgun with chris martin my dj
not the white boy, but i’m down for the (coldplay)
forever stay violent, better stay silent
hammers stay hummin like strummin the mandolin violin
speakin of, i done played a tune of violence
more than my n-gg- charles hamilton played sonic
i wrap n-gg-z up, clap n-gg-z up, scr-p n-gg-z up
either that or we gon’ slap n-gg-z up
dump dirt on you – right before i go
into my maino mode if i smell the scent of yung berg on ya
’til it ain’t no mo’, ain’t no dough
get into his -ss cause i ain’t opposed, i’m a livin -n-l probe
i’m a lame-ophobe, matter fact my n-gg- jumpoff
can i keep goin? (why the f-ck not!)
when i was a teen, i used to pack a three-eighty
now i’m spittin sittin between shady and jay (ohh!)
i pull the jeans down on my b-tch and then wave
cause the p-ssy max b wavy when she ain’t shave
i leave the booth smellin like somebody ain’t sprayed
i would talk about kimbo but i ain’t crazy
i’m like marty mcfly goin back in time
and dissin his momma n-gg- you can’t fade me

[joe budden]
they say he a b-st-rd for real, then they see the -ss on his girl
so they wonderin, why’s he so mad at the world?
i take it out on tracks, i r.i.p. it
so even to the producer it’s hard to i.d. it
bars tremendous, it’s in your best interest
i insist your men just, do your best bush rendish
endless, move more than two inches
my blood’ll boil like i got a big skin cyst
so end this or see me maã±ana
or see the speed of a llama, underground primadonna
that ain’t hard to find, pop a e in a honda
with hands like e. honda, he a monster!
i love war, it’s like my pet peeve kinda
but for us to even beef you should be honored!
my d-ck gettin hard, i see v-g-n-, pause
nah, rewind each line each time
speak mine and meet 9, mano a mano
when it rains it pours, grab a teflon poncho
you now f-ckin with mouse, the head honcho
n-gg- i could fix yo’ house in my condo!
i walk around like ratchets been legalized
just me and the desert eagle, and an eagle eye
closed casket, now you havin a boxed wake
zipper over your head, dudes callin you crotchface!
so y’all could b-mp “swag like us”
but the next time rap’s discussed, add this as a plus
don’t n-body hit the pad like us
and would get up in that -ss but the f-g’s might bust (bust)
and since poppin tags is a must (what?)
i hit the bank – all i do is withdraw
chicks removin their drawers now, your crew is in awe
how you ball? your jewels from a cubicle in the mall
you gon’ need another processor, to process it
i’ll set it, i said it!
so keep runnin around hot-headed, ’til you get hot leaded
’til everything but your torso on you is prosthetic
digest it, n-gg-z is pie-thetic
rap what you can’t afford, y’all must got credit
all you gotta know is crooked i, royce, bless and joell
with joe spell, no l!

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