Ft. SLV
|
|
[Intro]
|
|
House gang woo
|
House gang x4
|
You know how we ride
|
Sl playing SLV
|
Talk that talk to ¡®em
|
|
[Verse 1: Crooked I]
|
Guess who back turning the track into mince meat
|
For diabetics with diarrhea thinking shits sweet
|
A thug MC, even though I¡¯m all about money
|
I found time to throw it away with Swizz Beatz
|
House gang, hardest fools round
|
Dime winds up, garden tools down
|
Black rolls royce riding up that coast
|
Niggas left me for dead, I came back in that ghost
|
The Resurrection, can¡¯t spell sex without the letter X
|
So this is a letter to every ex I¡¯m sexing
|
I get the best oral no question
|
Pectoral shit, we out shear flexing
|
Yeah, thats the slaughterhouse team
|
Looking down on ballers as if were as tall as Yao Ming
|
Fly is what we are without wings
|
Its like scientist studying the environment we all about green
|
|
[Hook: SLV]
|
(?)
|
(?)
|
They thought I wouldn¡¯t get far
|
From a nobody to a star
|
Whats there to take from me
|
You to do it mistakenly
|
I¡¯m still here, amazingly
|
I thank god for making me
|
Who I am
|
|
[Verse 2: Joe Budden]
|
These raps from a smokers lung
|
Climb the ladder to success get the broken (?)
|
See I¡¯m now never guessed it was token (?)
|
Box full of some pills, I might open one
|
I guess the cops didn¡¯t learn that these word won¡¯t faze them
|
Living my mind, how can bars ever cage them
|
Give me a break, I¡¯m a ¡°Law Abiding Citizen¡±
|
I¡¯mma kill a cell mate if enough is at stake
|
Some say that I¡¯m thorough got it fucked up I just say what I mean
|
It was never bout money I was chasing a dream
|
Now the roofs getting raise I can¡¯t beat the machine
|
I take being the sickest way over being the richest
|
If you focus on me I ain¡¯t doing that bad
|
Right there in the (?) I Solemnly swear
|
The joke is on me, I still got the last laugh
|
|
[Hook]
|
|
[Verse 3: Joell Ortiz]
|
|
My real name my rap shit
|
No bed-frame just a mattress
|
Tryna light the stove looking for a pack of matches
|
Listening to HOV instrumentals getting practice
|
Flicking (?) ashes
|
Inner zip lock from an old package
|
Niggas better be lucky that I¡¯m so passive
|
I¡¯m a blow past like a coke habit
|
You afraid of me, ufradi river flow massive
|
I sit a (?) fitted over (?) jacksons
|
Jeans horseshoe under the horse polo relaxing
|
With a horse shotgun on the porch letting the horse brag
|
You¡¯ll be going horse tryna call a cab
|
I¡¯m everywhere with the newyorker swag
|
Got me at cancer and massachusetts
|
I¡¯ll be throwing in the bostin crab
|
Here¡¯s a toast to the streets when you eat you food down to bone/bon
|
Appetite so don¡¯t turn your cheek
|
My real name my rap shit
|
The messiah of real rap shit
|
Nod your head make a face like you sitting on the toilet
|
And its real hard to crap shit
|
Yeah I make that shit
|
For the gang clappers on a sober night
|
Been pushing over to the right you know
|
Switch your (?) backwards
|
I wrote a track with a (?) in my (?)
|
So who the fuck said I don¡¯t do this for the back packers
|
One hit of my piff and you cough
|
Got pot top nocth at minimum cost
|
Do me a favour takes your little nicks and get lost
|
The only time you get a P is when I¡¯m pissing you off
|
My name ringing them (?)
|
My saying the same thing I¡¯m (?)
|
I can still chill in the field where they kill cause I¡¯m real never (?)
|
|
[Hook]
|
|
-----------------
|
Who I Am
|
| Slaughterhouse |
