(feat. Royce Da 5'9", Joell Ortiz, Crooked I)
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[Intro: Royce]
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Your left shoulderrrrr (HUT!)
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Your right shoulderrrrr (HUT!)
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[gunfire]
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Your left shoulderrrrr (HUT!)
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Your right shoulderrrrr (HUT!)
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[whistle blows]
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[female] Slaughter
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[Royce Da 5'9"]
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Poppa-Poppa Pistol stuck his dick in Momma Missile
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and created Mr. Got-to-Get-You if he opposite just split
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You niggaz bitches cranberry like a vodka mixer
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Whippin bitches niggaz black, ass like a cotton picker
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Bomb through debris - I'm holdin two pistols
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in the form of a crosshair, I am armed to the T
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I put on for my city, I take off for whoever
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think I'm soft for my job of rappin, go back to clappin
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Back to illin, back to dealin, back to coc-a-ina
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Up the nose, that's the feelin, sky the limit, that's the ceilin
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And the women is the whores, puttin numbers up for sales
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It's the score into hell, it's the feel, it's the feel
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[Chorus: Royce Da 5'9" - singing with AutoTune]
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I can make noise when the gat blowwwww-ooooooh-oooh
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The Slaughterhouse boys make the gat blowwwww-ohhhhh-ooooh
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It's a muh'fuckin Slaughterhouuuuuuuse
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We outta here, we outta here, we outta here
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It's a muh'fuckin Slaughterhouse
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We outta here, we outta here, we outta
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[Joe Budden]
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[starts off screwed] I live my life like a hood bopper
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touched by evil, all about bread and evil
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Regular people lookin like bread to eagles with the desert eagle
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Cordially they forcin me to act accordingly
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When according to me my thoughts disorderly just like they outta be
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It's more to me in accord to me
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Just mad at the smoke and the mirrors, image, perceptions and the forgery
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Everything is a fraud to me
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So until the boys wake up, me and my boys make up
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Be with the toy sprayers, aimin noise makers at the noise makers (blam)
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Best group ever, group of whoever who do it better
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Bets placed on it (nigga!) number one got our face on it
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And I make a case on it, treason
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Every twelve months it's huntin season
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They call us Slaughterhouse for a reason!
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[Chorus]
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[Royce] Crooked!
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[Crooked I]
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Piano face Audemars, you haters know the time
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Drug abusin fourth-grader, I mean a loaded nine
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Hits in the stash, Ferrari Spider, the road is mine
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Like lap dancers and bad brakes, I'm on the grind
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So tell Officer Crawford that this is (Slaughterhouse)
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And I left the next black president in his daughter's mouth
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Swallow my kids then I'm like, "Yo I gotta bounce"
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Ben Franklin's a math genius and every dollar counts
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We takin over the game, go at you little wussies
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(Why?) Cause that's the sweetest joy next to gettin pussy
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Somethin bad is emergin
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Slaughter's blowin up like a suicide bomber promised 70 virgins nigga
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[Chorus]
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[Royce] Ortiz!
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[Joell Ortiz]
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One quarter of Slaughter reportin to you live
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from a corner where reporters stop by
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Since somebody playin pow-pow
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shots fly out a glock-9 'til you cooked like a potpie
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Take a look at everybody in my crew
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bet you can't find a member of the squad that is not fly
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Anybody say they can see us they either lyin
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or not wearin they glasses, apparently cock-eyed
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We don't shit, we ca-ca
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We don't spit, we emit lava
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Got a grip on these hip-hoppers like a big lobster
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Everybody know the deal when the hear the kid YOWWA!
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Goo-goo, ga-ga, baby cryin 'bout the internet
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They get on the site but they showed me and Joe the other night
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takin flights then lightin up a cigarette
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Motherfucker we ill, not one insect step short of the best thing
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Everything we touch make they head swing and, y'all ain't really interestin
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Throw a shot, and our fans do the interceptin
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You got the crowd fooled but I ain't really into wrestlin (into wrestlin)
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[Chorus]
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-----------------
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We Outta Here
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Joe Budden |