Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sound Off, artist - Slaughterhouse. Album song Slaughterhouse, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 10.08.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: E1
Song language: English
Sound Off |
You herbs we merged, we’re an alliance |
We fight fire with flamethrowers, why would you try us? |
We an outfit, equivalent to Voltron’s |
That boy Crooked I is equivalent to four arms |
Joell Ortiz is the body |
The cannibal slash killer, kill you then eat your body |
Joe Budden is the pair of legs |
He runs shit alongside I, the apparent head |
I am the general, bow now |
Fuck saluting! |
I don’t really think y’all niggas get it |
Run up on your with a army it is |
On until it’s done, finished |
You got a problem with any one of my slaughters |
Then y’all niggas can come with it |
Me and Joey, we a perfect fit |
He like starting shit, I like ending shit |
I don’t squash the beef, I don’t bend a bit |
It ain’t intricate |
I’m gon' shoot your stupid ass |
You too could laugh, you gon' die smiling |
Try wilding, I get hostile then I’m violent |
I don’t make threats nigga I promise |
My style is Stalin mixed with sick lyrics |
If you hear it, it’ll lift your spirit |
Turn your appearance into a disappearance |
Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Di, Ding |
I fuck with nothing but gangstas |
Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off… HUT! |
I fuck with nothing but my clique |
Nothing but hot shit, follow me, sound off, sound off… HUT! |
I fuck with nothing but gangstas |
Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off… HUT! |
I put my money on my clique, hot shit |
Coming out the barrel of my fifth |
I got a raw flow, and I stay hungry more so |
Guess that’s why I’m the torso |
I pour sweat when I perform shows |
What I record goes down as the best, but the vets won’t let that torch go |
Y’all could keep it, they got flashlights now |
And flamethrowers, and I got one on my back right now |
Remain focused, that’s what I tell myself now and then |
Don’t want to go back to that block like when Varejao defends |
Uh-oh, my stomach growls again, I ain’t none of you cowards friends |
Every human out of my sight before I count to ten |
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight |
I’m hungry like I never ate |
Set a table up with knives, forks and spoons, I’m 'bout to get a plate |
All these sweet dummies looking me like a pepper steak |
Means we never seperate, we ain’t married |
Jab it everytime I touch a pen, I sort of set a date |
I’ll devestate your career, look I’m a demonstrate |
Let me get a good breath take before I regulate |
(Takes Breath) Okay, bye bye you guys, don’t try to rhyme |
Cause line for line |
What I design is mine and mine |
My joint’s divine, meaning right behind |
And thank God it shines all the light in mine |
So my eyes can find a nice dime to grind |
Come here girl, toma, toma, take that, take that |
You rappers chasing popularity by any means, doing silly things |
Buying too many size 20 skinny jeans |
The west treat me like I’m really king |
I’m Pacquiao in the Phillipines, illest thing niggas seen |
You rappers dressing like you fittin to sing Billie Jean |
I got to intervene, fuck you I’m a intervene |
You loud talking, wouldn’t kill a thing |
Matter of fact, where’s your head nigga? |
I got the guillotine |
Fuck your Hollywood limousine and rented bling |
I give you three red dots and I call it a triple beam |
I’ll put your pad on your property, fag |
Properly rob you and hop in the Jag |
If you stopping the profit, the glock will be popping your body |
You’ll rock a colostomy bag |
Shot in the abs, moms will be sad |
Pops will be mad, doctor be glad |
Possibly be stopping the plasma dropping |
Clock running out and the outcome bad |
Any one of you niggas fuck with my team |
Pretty ass thing with the infrared beam |
Sleep on that and get killed while you dream |
Fuck a rap group Slaughterhouse a machine |
Slaughterhouse, a regime |
I’m gooned up if you know what I mean |
Everybody want to be down with the king |
No, no, no, no, no fly zone. |
My one goal’s to astonish |
Tell the President, VP, (you could) notify the Congress |
They say I’m arrogant, pompous, but I’m honest |
I tell them keep an accomplice away from the accomplished |
They still making threats on your highness |
But I tell them where I be, they just ignore the compass |
I think all your mans' play dough, I don’t buy that movie, Fandango |
Fans they know that what? |
You a soldier to a general |
Baby steel, got it in a bag, airtight Navy SEAL |
Tell them little dudes I ain’t mad at y’all |
College kids like Asher Roth |
Y’all just trying to put food on the table |
While I’m a just come and try to snatch it off |
If it ain’t for me |
Most young dudes would be angrily |
But anxiously awaiting bankruptcy |
Wonder what makes little motherfuckers think they the same as me |
I’m synchronised you and your men should die |
Learn certain shit you ain’t meant to try |
Got the ground covered with some niggas in disguise |
Best bet is to attempt to fly |
Shit’s a game, you down, you in for life |
Fuck y’all, I ain’t got to generalize |
Y’all enabled to write what the pen describes |
So when he asked what I meant and why, I tell him |