[Intro: Royce Da 5’9″]
“This is the life, we gone!”
[Joe Budden]
“I ain’t with the leaning and rocking
That ain’t even seen as a option…”
[Crooked I (K-Young)]
You’re nothing without (Focus)
Woo.. Long Beach (lay your seats back)
New Jersey (turn your speakers up)
Brook-lyn! Detroit!
[Hook: K-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 f**ers (Slaughterhouse)
[Verse 1: Crooked I]
Lyrical murderer, blame Rakim
I’m a sniper shooting 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 f**ing Lil’ Kim
n***as better pray to the lyrical lord
That I fall off like the umbilical cord before I fill up the morgue
This is how a k**er record
With the double-edged triple syllable sword, I’m iller than all
Dineri, see I’m a literary genius
Bury n***as with words, a cemetery linguist
Most rappers are comedy gold
They like they boyfriend’s sodomy hole – they full of sh**!
[Verse 2: Royce Da 5’9″]
Now you could walk through the shadow of d**h next to that shady street
Where the verbal c**aine business and 80’s meet
Where them n***as is backwards
I’m riding with my daughter in the front with the A.K. in the baby seat
We them copycat k**ers, unleashing venom
Commit them lyrical murders and then we re-commit ’em
Lyrics be high quality
b**hes be giving me brain, my dick be deep in they heads like psychology
Independently penning the best words that were ever said
The mixture of Leatherhead and Everclear
You can’t hide, we everywhere
Now, picture a grizzly standing next to a teddy bear
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Joe Budden]
Yeah
Hello hip-hop, I am here, you dying 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 trying to hear
Something either wrong with your eyes and ears
I came in this game screaming Jers’
Ain’t an MC in our lane to try and merge
Try and run with our wave
But I’m cool with being Eddie Levert seeing my son on stage
Gun gon’ blaze, act up in this joint
And I’mma 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 sh**, and I brung soldiers
[Verse 4: Joell Ortiz]
This is lyrical murder
Me and every track have a physical merger
When I stab it in the chest I’mma bit of a curver
So it bleeds to d**h, 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 ba** in the face but sometimes I carry a rope
To hang the piano keys when they hitting 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
[Hook]