[Lyric] Sound Off (Slaughterhouse)

[Verse 1: Royce da 5'9"]
You herbs, we merged, we're an alliance
We fight fire with flamethrowers, why would you try us?
We a outfit, equivalent to Voltrons
That boy Crooked I's 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 run 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 you with an army, it is on 'til it's done, finished
You got a problem with any one of my Slaughters
Then y'all niggas can come with us
Me and Joey, we a perfect fit, he like startin' shit, I like endin' 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 choose to laugh, you gon' die smilin, try wildin'
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 to a disappearance
When I d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-ding!
[Chorus: Royce da 5'9"]
I fuck with nothing but gangstas
Nothing but hustler 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 hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (Hut!)
I put my money on my clique
Hot shit coming out of the barrel of my fif'

[Verse 2: Joell Ortiz]
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 can 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 wanna go back to that block like where 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 (Woo!)
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight
I'm hungry like I never ate (Rrrrrr)
Set a table up with knives, forks, and spoons
I'm 'bout to get a plate
All these weak dummies lookin' yummy like a pepper steak
Me and these streets'll never separate, we ain't married
Yeah, but every time I touch a pen, I sorta set a date
I'll devastate your career, look, I'ma demonstrate
Let me get a good breath I take before I regulate
Okay, bye-bye, you guys
Don't try to rhyme 'cause line for line, what I design is mine
And my point is: I'm divine and I'm right behind
The big guy that 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!
[Chorus: Royce da 5'9"]
I fuck with nothing but gangstas
Nothing but hustler 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 hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (Hut!)
I put my money on my clique
Hot shit coming out of the barrel of my fif'

[Verse 3: Crooked I]
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 Philippines, illest thing them niggas seen
You rappers dressing like you finna sing "Billie Jean"
I gotta intervene—fuck you, I'ma 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'll be popping
Your body'll rock a colostomy bag
Shot in the abs, moms'll be sad, pops'll be mad, doctor be glad
Possibly stopping the plasma dropping
Clock running out and the outcome bad
Any one of you niggas that 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 wanna be down with the king
N-N-N-N-No-Fly Zone
[Chorus: Royce da 5'9"]
I fuck with nothing but gangstas
Nothing but hustler 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 hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (Hut!)
I put my money on my clique
Hot shit coming out of the barrel of my fif'

[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
My one goal's to astonish
Tell the President, V.P., (You could) notify the Congress
They say I'm arrogant, pompous, but I'm honest
I tell 'em, "Keep an accomplice away from the accomplished"
They still making threats on Your Highness
But I tell 'em where I be, they just ignore the compass
I think all your mans Play-Doh
I don't buy that movie, "Fandango," fans they know that, what!
You a soldier to a general, baby steel
Got it in the bag, airtight, Navy SEAL
Tell lil' dudes, I ain't mad at y'all, college kids like Asher Roth
Y'all just trying to put food on the table
Well, I'ma just come and try snatch it off
If it ain't for me, most young dudes'd be angrily (Whoa, whoa)
But anxiously awaiting bankruptcy
Wonder what makes lil' motherfuckers think they're the same as me
I'm synchronized, you and your mans'll die
Learn certain shit you ain't meant to try
Got the ground covered with some niggas in disguise
Best bet's to attempt to fly
Shit's a gang, you down, you in for life
Fuck y'all, I ain't gotta generalize
Y'all ain't able to write what the pen describes
So when he ask what I meant and why, I tell him

[Chorus: Royce da 5'9"]
I fuck with nothing but gangstas
Nothing but hustler 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 hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (Hut!)
I put my money on my clique
Hot shit coming out of the barrel of my fif'