林氏兄弟官方商城: Eminem | Slaughterhouse 商品

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[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]
I been here before and I don’t mean the last cypher
I’m a pen and pad sniper
When y’all make it rain you make your little stash lighter
When I make it rain
You driving on tough terrain in a lemon with bad wipers
I hear all the noise like mad bikers
Hip-hop making a big stink like if Shaq had diapers
Bunch of half ass liars
With mad hyper reactions to the backpack writers
But the pack’s back tigers
People I hate are… at lions
Let you body something then I snatch that
And a left hook will send your gold snapback flyin’
Put you birds in the dirt like I sacked Matt Ryan
I never tried to be cool, it’s just finesse
But as a man there’s a few of your moves I must address
Not tryna judge but ooh I must confess
Never thought I’d see hip hop dudes under a dress
But back to me, I’m smooth, one of the best
Better than you, two letters from “U” up on chest…
…they see how the car rolling
Gold seven and the car dash crack like Lamar Odom
You hear the bars that my squad holding
BET thank us again for another hard moment

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
Now my father might try to call me after seeing the show
I only answer my smart phone for people I know, dummy
Probably a janitor, father like son
The cypher is full of crumbs I’m just sweeping the floor
Hold up, Pac, Big, and them, Nas, Eminem, I’m your synonym
War sentiment, tore ignorant rappers with poor penmanship
Unloading my clip in full increments
Leaving you on your condominium floor twisted with torn ligaments
Born eminent, the boy killer for more Benjamins
More dividends, warn women and warn children and
Tell ‘em this Californian born citizen is getting rid of illegitimate rappers
Cuz they more feminine than women that bore children
And they more feminine than George Zimmerman
Shout out BET for all the airplay
My old job is bricks under the stairway
See I ain’t one of them rappers rapping about they…
They really ain’t trapping, I’m put work in the streets
I’m merking the beats err’day
My conversation is on but I wanna walk in every BET cypher
And murder every rapper spitting
Call it hip hop population control
Hashtag FOH, they wanna crucify Crooked I, why, cause I’m bossy
But I’m so street look both ways before you cross me
Killing all is what I came to do
Black entertainment smacking you white entertainers too
House gang, anybody can get it
I got bands for anybody who with it
I’m the best note theoretical quotient
In alphabetical order I slaughter every rapper
And since I’m strictly West Coast I dump his head in the ocean
Pacific ocean, the specific ocean, I’m sipping potion
Listening to you rap, you ain’t saying nothing
You talking bread stunting, you talking red buttons
I’m pushing a red button and all my weapons going Karrine Steffans
That mean they head hunting
Homie you garbage, you probably learned to rap at ICDC college

[Verse 3: Royce Da 5’9″]
Slaughterhouse, state of emergency
Bars for days, Mardi Gras, Bourbon Street
Silencing this 9 so no noise flash out
Shout out to Big Sean and Doughboy’s Cashout
Shoutout to…
From doing me I stayed in the pocket
Now all I’m trying to do is give Halle Berry a baby today
Then I’m outtie tomorrow
After that maybe Drake can adopt it
You missed me with your “Who the hottest?” list
Only demand I got is I ain’t sharin’ no spots
I light your baby mama house on fire while she in it
And turn around and tell her now it’s apparent she hot
The McLaren is dropped
I was riding shotgun with Em before anyone could compared him to Pac
They don’t call us the return of the house for nothing
We taking real estate back
Killers stay strapped
Leave a rapper with gorilla face, flat…
…I went away and came back like smack
My mental state
You ’bout to fall trying to see the winter break
Wish I could take all of that Gucci out of my closet
And that vest that Joey wore on show on that dinner date
And shoot it ’til it disintergrates
You think I fell off, then you either out of your mind
Or inside of your mind lookin’ out of your blinds countin’ my truths
While I’m out at your momma’s house sippin’ the fountain of youth
I’m nice…

[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
I ain’t with the chit chat
Punch me I show up where you live at pitch black
Both of y’all can relax when it kick back
Tryna run like that will give you the right of way
I’m quick on my feet I can moonwalk sideways
God like flow, Jesus rapping
Housegang, Jesus rapping
He’s just yapping, all that beef and scrapping
Like Miley Cyrus twerking, something supposed to be shaking
I just never see it happen
That other chick that would try to get cute
Not a dime but she’s shooting
And her Vines never loop
But she’d suck the whole group if she’d ride for the night
And turn Slaughterhouse into City High for a night
Forget where the Ruger put
Your crew is shook
Ahead of my time, get you hit now from a Future hook
If lyrics matter we will spare the matter
But none of that is important cause what you wear is a factor
And it’s getting me upset, riddle me for a sec
Literally unimpressed with who y’all pick to be the best
So if I’m chosing where to aim it’ll be his head
Just to kill whoever’s nice, now chivalry is dead
It’s either you or me, since you love hip hop
I’ll have Wale say spoken word at your eulogy
Joey, Team Shady, Slaughter dudes
When you talkin’ about the best rappers it’s rhetorical

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