Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fight Club, artist - Slaughterhouse. Album song Slaughterhouse - EP, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 07.02.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: E1
Song language: English
Fight Club |
Ladies and gentlemen! |
Frequency, I present |
The new fight club up in this bitch (Slaughterhouse) |
We go by the name of Slaughterhouse |
And we outta here, only one rule |
No rule, no rule |
Joey, no rules, gunshots, no prob |
No jewels, niggas say I got robbed |
I’m still wearin my bling |
And fuck first class, I fly standin on Virgin America’s wing |
Nuts hang, knockin down skyscrapers |
Take a piss, make it rain, I’m the American dream (uhh) |
Make it rain, I ain’t Pacman Jones |
Nigga, balls and my word all a black man owns |
If you in that man’s zone, how you figure to gain? |
Can’t bowl a 300 in another nigga lane |
Better aim, you dealin with a 7−10 split |
That’s Long Beach cause we on some 7−10 shit |
I’ve been nice since «227» man, shit |
I am sick and I’m never gettin better, that’s it |
(Slaughterhouse) Give me somethin sharp to sever that prick |
Like a group broke up I will dismember that clique |
I’m a veteran, remember that shit |
We some internet rappers, then why you on our internet dicks? |
We’ll be there when it’s war callin |
Either we high or we fly or the floor fallin |
I’m a Tommy gun — it ain’t no best |
The rap game like a St. Louis versus New York battle, nobody won |
A bunch of fuckin 2's and 3's like zone defense |
Please get at dudes Ortiz (nah, you beast 'em) |
Hold up won’t stop, can’t stop, thank pops |
Hard-headed, gotta hit a wall first like a bank shot |
Get it clear — a cokehead’s a thin line |
Between friend or foe, won’t let this shit disappear |
This fiscal year I’mma stay hot buzzin |
With dudes that help me shoot like A-Rod cousin |
Walk in my shoes and your feet get callous |
From Jersey City to Caeser’s palace |
I speak with malice just to make sure the streets get salvaged |
Real talk, where would all us be without us? |
Slaughterhouse no fear — too many dudes |
Tyson Chandler tried to leave they team and went nowhere |
Like Tyson Chandler in the past niggas on some bullshit |
Royce, tell Preme I got a full clip (whoa!) |
Niggas used to run when they saw Suge’s face |
Faster than Joey and Joell in a foot race |
Now you ask me where the incident took place |
Don’t check the internet, check hood space |
You dealin with some intelligent creatures |
I don’t touch guns, I draw with telekinesis |
No fingerprints on Crooked’s mag |
I’m mixed with good and bad like the Goodfellas and Jesus |
First Biggie and Jay made it |
I’ll leave a bandana at your murder and make it gang related |
The bitch at the Shonie’s told me homie |
Ortiz, I’m the one and only |
Pick a spot, I pick apart you dudes who pick a part |
This ain’t a movie, I feel bad like lookin at a pic of 'Pac |
Niggas hearts gettin sparked every time I give a arc |
To my wrist and it twists like a spliff when I’m sittin in the park |
Tall corny niggas ain’t makin a bigger mark |
I’ll boost drugs, what I does got 'em runnin to get a NARC |
You guppies unlucky, you in a tank with a shark |
Teeth crooked like my dog who just finished a vicious bark |
Flick a dart through your top hat |
Weak MC’s you cannot rap; |
Freq', where the drop at? |
Now you mad at Tahiry cause your ass ain’t famous |
Get it nigga? |
Your «ass» ain’t famous |
Quit talkin 'bout me cause ya ass ain’t dangerous |
They call me Hustler because my mag game heinous |
Show up to Detroit thinkin +Everybody Love+ you |
And I’mma come and show you that ya ass ain’t +Raymond+ |
Dumbin every line — me fuckin bitches |
Like the cops after a murder, they cummin/comin every time |
Shell-toes and Wissam jacket, the contractor |
Still pushin elbows like a linebacker |
And y’all playin — my worldwide bitches |
On my worldwide watch, I call it the broadband |
SLAUGHTERHOUSE! |
Y’all know what it is man |
I know you got that «Padded Room», ow! |
That motherfuckin «Free Agent» comin soon |
«Street Hop»! |
Yeah, hahaha |
You mighta heard the rumors |
They thought it was, three quarters of the Slaughter left |
Hahahaha, I’m STILL HERE YOU MOTHERFUCKIN HATERS! |
Yeah |
Ay, with friends like mine you don’t need enemies |
BLAOW! |
You do the math |
Let me drink this motherfuckin vodka and tell you one thing |
We outta here, OWWWWW! |
Ohhhhhhhhh, shiiiiiiiii-IT! |