| Life handed me lemons
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| I jumped back into the public eye and squirted lemon juice in it
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| By now you just wish I’d fucking die but I electrify
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| Get electrocuted, executed by an executioner of my flow
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| Too quick for the human eye to detect zooming by
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| (Chick-chick-chick-chick-ah!) Guess who, what’s happening guys?
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| They told me to shit, I fell off that pot
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| Hopped right back up on that crapper and I
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| Said «fuck It"with a capital I
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| Look who’s back to antagonize
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| You don’t like it? |
| You can eat shit, fuck off little faggot and die
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| You’re right back like a maggot on my dick grabbing at my,
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| Shit better get to the back of the line
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| You wanna get your shot at me what kinda crap is that battle
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| What kind of rapper would I be-'fore I let another rapper think he’s hot
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| I’ll bury my face in his stinky twat and go alalalala!
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| Girl my head space is limited, ain’t even room in the back of my mind
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| That’s why I ain’t thinking about you, I don’t got time and I told you a
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| thousand times
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| So how can I find the time to put an alkaline battery in Royce’s back
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| And at the same time put juice in mine?
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| Goddamn it! |
| Slaughterhouse is signed!
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| SLAUGHTERHOUSE!
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| I’m a — menace villain, my pen is sitting spilling, my lyrics killing
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| Then I let you witness shit when it hit the ceiling
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| The niggas willing to give the listeners the sickest feeling
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| Like mixing some Benadryl and penicillin
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| Then I’m filling the clip with a written
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| Can you picture my pistol drilling?
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| A million women and children when I’m illing
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| But it isn’t real, it’s a rap
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| On the realest of rap
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| How could you possibly stop the Apocalypse
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| When I’m atomic bombing the populous
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| Shock the metropolis hostile as a kid
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| Popping the Glock at his moms and his pops
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| Then he hops in his drop with his iPod rocking the Slaughterish
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| Documentation and lyrics I write with confidence
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| Write like a columnist slash novelist
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| I’m in this game to demolish it, establish my dominance
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| Over prominent rappers you popping shit 'til you opposite
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| I can spit ominous so spit politics now I’m Haile Selassie, Gandhi, and Pac
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| Of this hip hop genre, bitch!
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| SLAUGHTERHOUSE!
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| Lyrically I’m a cocaine Altoid
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| Ability told brain it’s a no brain bout boy
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| Physically I’m literally a cocaine cowboy
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| Wait wait, did I just go almost four bars without talking about my big dick?
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| The other day me and your thick bitch had a great date and we ate cake
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| And then we walked and then she tried to jack me off but she lost
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| Cause she couldn’t handle my shake weight, I sweared
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| Irony of Ryan is I am bipolar while I’m rhyming
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| Standing beside a big old (big old) white bear!
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| Neither one of us fight fair, you are literally looking at Woody and Wesley in
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| a movie
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| Where the white boy ain’t got to jump, nowhere cause I’m here
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| Nigga I’m on fire yeah! |
| and I’m every bitch’s dream
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| One, two, I’m coming for you, I’m a big old (big old) Nightmare!
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| Nigga this is slaughter stepping up
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| I’ll pretty much slap your ass and tell you to shut the fuck up!
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| After that I’ll slap your ass again and tell you to shut the fuck up shutting
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| up!
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| And that’s how you body a fucking beat!
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| SLAUGHTERHOUSE!
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| I should be the one that goes slow, nah!
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| Get a stopwatch, clock my flow
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| Hit the button on top watch the drug drop
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| O O dot dot O, Yaowa
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| When I drop I go outer space
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| Blackout like Darth Vader’s face
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| Placed in a molten shower
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| Say something and get them proper
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| Mama poppa pouring out vodka
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| Mama Mia, Em pass me the scissors there’s visitors in the Slaughterhouse casa
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| Better jet boy go home, better jet boy G4 chrome,
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| Better jet boy Mark Sanchez, Santanio Holmes, I’m not just any old homeboy!
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| Sitting in a lab picking up a pad
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| I be spitting bad, I’m a get you mad with this gift I have
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| Lord duck sufferin' succotash when the trigger blast
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| I’m a put your beak on your fitted hat
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| Where the liquor at? |
| Sip of yak
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| Bad bitch and a vicious track I relididax
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| Sly Pro Tools to boast Joe smooth I coast to the West like where Crooked livin'
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| at
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| New York here’s a piggyback ride to the motherland
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| Hold on brotherman, on the other hand get down
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| I’m gutter fam, gun butt you with the Eagle handle Cunningham |
| I don’t wanna talk, I just wanna beef
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| I don’t want a piece, I want it all baby boy
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| I don’t wanna eat, I wanna feast stuff my cheeks with raw pieces of shit
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| You done weak, I’m the one, capiche?
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| SLAUGHTERHOUSE!
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| Uh, Insane what they call us
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| How you married to the game but you prolly shouldn’t have came to the altar
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| Every bar like propane for the sawed-off, using a hammer to forge you
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| Eminem, Mr. Porter, slaughter my sentiment’s imminent torture
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| All of you feminine marauders, that’s women at war
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| Men will assault you, Tommy’s and bats that resemble Lasorda
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| Kidnap your trembling daughter, at least a quarter
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| Of administering supporters, got an aura more like Sodom and Gomorrah
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| Normally something’s wrong with me
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| Blame it on the quantity of the porn I see on the pause to me
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| When I fix the game they’ll think shit came with a warranty
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| How the fuck are they gonna stop when I was born to be
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| Corner me, shit belong to me, two choices, you can get along with me
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| Or sit your faggot ass right there in dormancy
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| Wait, all you missing is heels to be Ru Paul
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| Ain’t nobody that’s real ever knew y’all
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| Second to none and I’m dealing with Marshall
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| This time I never come down, deal with the blue balls
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| You ain’t gotta fear me but you’ll respect me
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| Niggas who never met me threaten me, want to gillete me
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| Coming to a sword fight against a machete
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| Swinging spaghetti like it’s heavy some said he deserve an ESPY
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| In a Chevy like Andretti, put the Dezzy where his chest be
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| SLAUGHTERHOUSE! |