[Royce Da 5'9]
Yea, my clique shottas, you ain’t fuckin’ with this roster
My bitch a knockout, head to toe like a kick-boxer
Don’t get boxed up, your chick got her lips cocked up
I pull my dick out of my boxers, then Chris Boshed her
Uh, now that my AK’s out in the open
I put his mind on vacay, I rerouted his focus
Uh, now that the ace spade bottle is open
I’m tryna ménage with J.K. Rowling and Oprah
I’m a soldier, I’m not polite
My G, I’ve got lighters, I don’t care about your life
I don’t need to run the street, I don’t need your block
They don’t call me Royce for nothing, my baby I got Dwight/the white
I put you on the asphalt you try to rip my cash off
I eat your face past the jaw then season it with bath salts
It’s Slaughterhouse and the L.A. Leakers
That’s why you niggas whispering like a Dwele feature
[Crooked I]
We ain’t showin’ no mercy nigga
Percy Miller, thirsty killer
Ask around, homie I’m ‘bout 'bout it
Lost my mind, I’m livin’ fine without it
Money on the trigger, that’s bread on the click
Fuck your wall cause you be dead on your dick
Decapitate you like a backwoods savage
Come back to my hood with your head on a stick
Pussy niggas, that’s the shit I don’t like
2 Glock 9’s at the same damn time
Jump off Joe said the nigga don’t write
On 106 and my nigga ain’t lyin’
Walk in the booth, get to talking the truth
Then I cough in the booth when I draw and I shoot
Sawed off introduced, shout out to the group
Too raw to compute, soft niggas mute
Call for a truce, hop in the coupe
Vodka and juice, boss on the loose
Little mama's caboose like a ox and a moose
Coffed the coupe, I’ma hop in the cooch
Toss her a deuce, toss her a deuce
Yea, east side repping Long Beach
I’m from the east side, yes
And my niggas would kill you before I reach for my weapon
Beneath my leave
Got your 357, pow pow
This Slaughterhouse, shady records on my neck
I’m cashing out
Killing every beat then a negro exit
I guess you could say I’m blacking out
[Joell Ortiz]
Yaowa!
You know who just stepped up in the building, don'tcha?
Upside down pig logo on a poster
11 rounds sig and my hip is the holster
It will work on your body like a visit to Costa
Rica When I leap through your speakers it’s a damn blessin’
I turned down ass, you and your man stressin’
Shorty iron my je-wels while she lickin’ my Jimmy
Erry' night I reenact an old Cam session
Ha, yea we nice enough to brag often
We run the lyrics, y'all run the gay swag portion
So, y’all stay over there cause if y’all come over here
We gonna do a number on you like Chad Johnson
I’m into Mags but my dude’s into Mag tossin’
Fillin’ magazines as they vibe and they outsourcing
Same dudes who played tag, coughing, it's the same click
That would empty out your stomach, that’s an a-bortion
House Gang now and forever
Speak now or forever hold your peace, however
If you choose to speak up, choose your next words wisely
They could be your last like my pockets in the past
Before Marshall and his staff, before Doc and Aftermath
Before Rhymes, hard times, not a dollar for the gas
Honda with a hundred million miles up on the dash
Baby momma and her momma causin’ drama for that cash
Now I sit up in that madrion and laugh
Just like a thong or Teraji, baby boy, I done got up in that ass
My sneakers leaned, now I’m moonwalkin’
I got it locked cuz I’m cool with them bars like a cool warden
Now I’m in parties where you never could come
Shots of consecutive rum until my melon is done
Now I can’t hear the hate from where you yelling it from
I'm throwing, roped off, with @bunyan71
I’m in the cool space, off the hood, new place
My shorty whipped like I redid the kitchen, she got new plates
I just left my son’s graduation
Bought him new skates
And told his ass congratulations
Y’all beating off to broads in world star
I’m with another broad, getting some head in your girl’s car
She’s just happy to be here
I’m just happy that she here
You unhappy, like we care
I got brand new carpet, she plant her knees there
She a pet net, I be planting all my seeds there
Mike on the speaker, couple rhymes for the Leaker
We run this hands down like I’m tyin’ my sneaker
Yaowa
Yea, my clique shottas, you ain’t fuckin’ with this roster
My bitch a knockout, head to toe like a kick-boxer
Don’t get boxed up, your chick got her lips cocked up
I pull my dick out of my boxers, then Chris Boshed her
Uh, now that my AK’s out in the open
I put his mind on vacay, I rerouted his focus
Uh, now that the ace spade bottle is open
I’m tryna ménage with J.K. Rowling and Oprah
I’m a soldier, I’m not polite
My G, I’ve got lighters, I don’t care about your life
I don’t need to run the street, I don’t need your block
They don’t call me Royce for nothing, my baby I got Dwight/the white
I put you on the asphalt you try to rip my cash off
I eat your face past the jaw then season it with bath salts
It’s Slaughterhouse and the L.A. Leakers
That’s why you niggas whispering like a Dwele feature
[Crooked I]
We ain’t showin’ no mercy nigga
Percy Miller, thirsty killer
Ask around, homie I’m ‘bout 'bout it
Lost my mind, I’m livin’ fine without it
Money on the trigger, that’s bread on the click
Fuck your wall cause you be dead on your dick
Decapitate you like a backwoods savage
Come back to my hood with your head on a stick
Pussy niggas, that’s the shit I don’t like
2 Glock 9’s at the same damn time
Jump off Joe said the nigga don’t write
On 106 and my nigga ain’t lyin’
Walk in the booth, get to talking the truth
Then I cough in the booth when I draw and I shoot
Sawed off introduced, shout out to the group
Too raw to compute, soft niggas mute
Call for a truce, hop in the coupe
Vodka and juice, boss on the loose
Little mama's caboose like a ox and a moose
Coffed the coupe, I’ma hop in the cooch
Toss her a deuce, toss her a deuce
Yea, east side repping Long Beach
I’m from the east side, yes
And my niggas would kill you before I reach for my weapon
Beneath my leave
Got your 357, pow pow
This Slaughterhouse, shady records on my neck
I’m cashing out
Killing every beat then a negro exit
I guess you could say I’m blacking out
[Joell Ortiz]
Yaowa!
You know who just stepped up in the building, don'tcha?
Upside down pig logo on a poster
11 rounds sig and my hip is the holster
It will work on your body like a visit to Costa
Rica When I leap through your speakers it’s a damn blessin’
I turned down ass, you and your man stressin’
Shorty iron my je-wels while she lickin’ my Jimmy
Erry' night I reenact an old Cam session
Ha, yea we nice enough to brag often
We run the lyrics, y'all run the gay swag portion
So, y’all stay over there cause if y’all come over here
We gonna do a number on you like Chad Johnson
I’m into Mags but my dude’s into Mag tossin’
Fillin’ magazines as they vibe and they outsourcing
Same dudes who played tag, coughing, it's the same click
That would empty out your stomach, that’s an a-bortion
House Gang now and forever
Speak now or forever hold your peace, however
If you choose to speak up, choose your next words wisely
They could be your last like my pockets in the past
Before Marshall and his staff, before Doc and Aftermath
Before Rhymes, hard times, not a dollar for the gas
Honda with a hundred million miles up on the dash
Baby momma and her momma causin’ drama for that cash
Now I sit up in that madrion and laugh
Just like a thong or Teraji, baby boy, I done got up in that ass
My sneakers leaned, now I’m moonwalkin’
I got it locked cuz I’m cool with them bars like a cool warden
Now I’m in parties where you never could come
Shots of consecutive rum until my melon is done
Now I can’t hear the hate from where you yelling it from
I'm throwing, roped off, with @bunyan71
I’m in the cool space, off the hood, new place
My shorty whipped like I redid the kitchen, she got new plates
I just left my son’s graduation
Bought him new skates
And told his ass congratulations
Y’all beating off to broads in world star
I’m with another broad, getting some head in your girl’s car
She’s just happy to be here
I’m just happy that she here
You unhappy, like we care
I got brand new carpet, she plant her knees there
She a pet net, I be planting all my seeds there
Mike on the speaker, couple rhymes for the Leaker
We run this hands down like I’m tyin’ my sneaker
Yaowa
( Slaughterhouse )
www.ChordsAZ.com