| As long as I got my pen I don’t need a friend
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| We got ears that we each’ll lend each other, my brother just hollered at me
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| again
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| He said he tired of all the lyin, deceivin and
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| Dick-ridin the people providin on every beat but when
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| I do it it’s stupid, I bruise it like a bad bitch
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| I lose it, my music’s a movement and they just mad stiff
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| I told 'em it’s mathematical in this pad lift
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| Point 'em out and I will subtract him, with an ad lib
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| See the fact is (what) I’m a bastard
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| How can I not be Macho, Man? |
| I’m a Savage
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| In the past I was passive, now I’m mad bitch
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| I’m spazzin, you get an Adidas classic where yo' ass is
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| Eh-eh, eh-eh, Nickel ain’t the one at all
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| Snatch your vocal chords out then plug 'em in my wall
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| You a knife at a gun fight, our shit is raw
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| You a square, you’re silverware in a civil war
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| The Slaughterhouse wolf pack, riders under the moon
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| The reason you itchin wit’cha lighter under your spoon
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| I’m a lover, the lead bustin is old to me
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| You put your head in her butt, I headbutt the ovaries
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| God dipped me in war paint for all weathers
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| I’m Mr. spill the liquor on my alcohol tether
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| No need to ride with nobody, I feel the heat can help me
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| Your jean’s skinnier than Em is when he eatin healthy, hahaha
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| WHOA, WHOA, WHOA
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| WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, Shaaady!
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| WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA
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| WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA
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| Outnumbered, outspoken, outcasted
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| Outweighed outrageous odds and outlasted
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| Outlandish, so I learned to outwit 'em
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| I outsmart 'em, outgrew 'em, I outdid 'em
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| Cream, out-bid 'em, team can’t out-spit him
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| (You could) Keep sleepin, your wet dream is out with him
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| (See) Do a lil' yoga, a lil' kama sutra
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| Steakhouse nigga, used to be a Ramen Noodler
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| Heavy on B and E’s, was a calm intruder
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| Pumped a Ruger, moms called me con and loser
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| I suggest you and your mans’ll regroup (why?)
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| Bet against it, and probably can’t recoup — out!
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| I point a pistol at your mamma mia
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| I’m sick as Tyson in the ring at the Colosseum with gonorrhea
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| Fuck a rapper, my clapper black as Bahamadia
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| Fuck you R&B bitches, shut up! |
| You not Aaliyah
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| (Ha ha!) When Mr. Porter record a piano
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| Producers may wanna order some ammo
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| I’m a California corner reporter
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| Your boy wasn’t born with a quarter, bein' poor was a horror
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| And now my aura is sorta Soprano; |
| look here
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| We reinvent the wheel to have a good year — and y’all tired
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| We like Tyler Perry mixed with Everlast
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| The House of Payne/Pain, Slaughterhouse gang nigga! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Sun Doobie , by - Slaughterhouse. Song from the album Slaughterhouse - EP, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп