Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Loud Noises, artist - Bad Meets Evil.
Date of issue: 31.12.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Loud Noises |
Life handed me lemons |
I jumped back into the public eye and squirted lemon juice in it |
By now you just wish I’d fucking die but I electrify |
Get electrocuted, executed by an executioner of my flow |
Too quick for the human eye to detect zooming by |
(Chick-chick-chick-chick-ah!) Guess who, what’s happening guys? |
They told me to shit, I fell off that pot |
Hopped right back up on that crapper and I |
Said «fuck It"with a capital I |
Look who’s back to antagonize |
You don’t like it? |
You can eat shit, fuck off little faggot and die |
You’re right back like a maggot on my dick grabbing at my, |
Shit better get to the back of the line |
You wanna get your shot at me what kinda crap is that battle |
What kind of rapper would I be-'fore I let another rapper think he’s hot |
I’ll bury my face in his stinky twat and go alalalala! |
Girl my head space is limited, ain’t even room in the back of my mind |
That’s why I ain’t thinking about you, I don’t got time and I told you a |
thousand times |
So how can I find the time to put an alkaline battery in Royce’s back |
And at the same time put juice in mine? |
Goddamn it! |
Slaughterhouse is signed! |
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! |
I’m a — menace villain, my pen is sitting spilling, my lyrics killing |
Then I let you witness shit when it hit the ceiling |
The niggas willing to give the listeners the sickest feeling |
Like mixing some Benadryl and penicillin |
Then I’m filling the clip with a written |
Can you picture my pistol drilling? |
A million women and children when I’m illing |
But it isn’t real, it’s a rap |
On the realest of rap |
How could you possibly stop the Apocalypse |
When I’m atomic bombing the populous |
Shock the metropolis hostile as a kid |
Popping the Glock at his moms and his pops |
Then he hops in his drop with his iPod rocking the Slaughterish |
Documentation and lyrics I write with confidence |
Write like a columnist slash novelist |
I’m in this game to demolish it, establish my dominance |
Over prominent rappers you popping shit 'til you opposite |
I can spit ominous so spit politics now I’m Haile Selassie, Gandhi, and Pac |
Of this hip hop genre, bitch! |
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! |
Lyrically I’m a cocaine Altoid |
Ability told brain it’s a no brain bout boy |
Physically I’m literally a cocaine cowboy |
Wait wait, did I just go almost four bars without talking about my big dick? |
The other day me and your thick bitch had a great date and we ate cake |
And then we walked and then she tried to jack me off but she lost |
Cause she couldn’t handle my shake weight, I sweared |
Irony of Ryan is I am bipolar while I’m rhyming |
Standing beside a big old (big old) white bear! |
Neither one of us fight fair, you are literally looking at Woody and Wesley in |
a movie |
Where the white boy ain’t got to jump, nowhere cause I’m here |
Nigga I’m on fire yeah! |
and I’m every bitch’s dream |
One, two, I’m coming for you, I’m a big old (big old) Nightmare! |
Nigga this is slaughter stepping up |
I’ll pretty much slap your ass and tell you to shut the fuck up! |
After that I’ll slap your ass again and tell you to shut the fuck up shutting |
up! |
And that’s how you body a fucking beat! |
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! |
I should be the one that goes slow, nah! |
Get a stopwatch, clock my flow |
Hit the button on top watch the drug drop |
O O dot dot O, Yaowa |
When I drop I go outer space |
Blackout like Darth Vader’s face |
Placed in a molten shower |
Say something and get them proper |
Mama poppa pouring out vodka |
Mama Mia, Em pass me the scissors there’s visitors in the Slaughterhouse casa |
Better jet boy go home, better jet boy G4 chrome, |
Better jet boy Mark Sanchez, Santanio Holmes, I’m not just any old homeboy! |
Sitting in a lab picking up a pad |
I be spitting bad, I’m a get you mad with this gift I have |
Lord duck sufferin' succotash when the trigger blast |
I’m a put your beak on your fitted hat |
Where the liquor at? |
Sip of yak |
Bad bitch and a vicious track I relididax |
Sly Pro Tools to boast Joe smooth I coast to the West like where Crooked livin' |
at |
New York here’s a piggyback ride to the motherland |
Hold on brotherman, on the other hand get down |
I’m gutter fam, gun butt you with the Eagle handle Cunningham |
I don’t wanna talk, I just wanna beef |
I don’t want a piece, I want it all baby boy |
I don’t wanna eat, I wanna feast stuff my cheeks with raw pieces of shit |
You done weak, I’m the one, capiche? |
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! |
Uh, Insane what they call us |
How you married to the game but you prolly shouldn’t have came to the altar |
Every bar like propane for the sawed-off, using a hammer to forge you |
Eminem, Mr. Porter, slaughter my sentiment’s imminent torture |
All of you feminine marauders, that’s women at war |
Men will assault you, Tommy’s and bats that resemble Lasorda |
Kidnap your trembling daughter, at least a quarter |
Of administering supporters, got an aura more like Sodom and Gomorrah |
Normally something’s wrong with me |
Blame it on the quantity of the porn I see on the pause to me |
When I fix the game they’ll think shit came with a warranty |
How the fuck are they gonna stop when I was born to be |
Corner me, shit belong to me, two choices, you can get along with me |
Or sit your faggot ass right there in dormancy |
Wait, all you missing is heels to be Ru Paul |
Ain’t nobody that’s real ever knew y’all |
Second to none and I’m dealing with Marshall |
This time I never come down, deal with the blue balls |
You ain’t gotta fear me but you’ll respect me |
Niggas who never met me threaten me, want to gillete me |
Coming to a sword fight against a machete |
Swinging spaghetti like it’s heavy some said he deserve an ESPY |
In a Chevy like Andretti, put the Dezzy where his chest be |
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! |