Bet Cypher 2013 Lyrics - Singles - Slaughterhouse

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz] 

I been here before and I don't mean the last cypher 

I'm a pen and pad sniper 

When y'all make it rain you make your little stash lighter 

When I make it rain you driving on tough terrain in a lemon with bad wipers 

I hear all the noise like mad bikers 

Hip hop making a big stink like if Shaq had diapers 

Bunch of half ass liars, with mad hyper reactions to the backpack writers 

But the pack's back tigers 

Be a hyena that laughs at lions 

Let you body something then I snatch that 

And a left hook will send your gold snapback flyin' 

Put you birds in the dirt like I sacked Matt Ryan 

I never tried to be cool, it's just finesse 

But as a man there's a few of your moves I must address 

Not tryna judge but ooh I must confess 

Never thought I'd see hip hop dudes under a dress 

But back to me, I'm smooth, one of the best 

Better than you, two letters from "U" up on chest 

But no red cape, just redbones in red bottoms 

[WHOLE LINE???] 

They see how the car rolling 

Gold seven and the car dash crack like Lamar Odom 

You hear the bars that my squad holding 

BET thank us again for another hard moment 

[Verse 2: Crooked I] 

Now my father might try to call me after seeing the show 

I only answer my smartphone for people I know, dummy 

Probably a janitor, father like son 

The cypher is full of crumbs I'm just sweeping the floor 

Hold up, Pac, Big, and them, Nas, Eminem, I'm your synonym 

War sentiment, tore ignorant rappers with poor penmanship 

Unloading my clip in full increments 

Leaving you on your condominium floor twisted with torn ligaments 

Born eminent, the boy killer for more Benjamins 

More dividends, warn women and warn children and 

Tell 'em this Californian born citizen is getting rid of illegitimate rappers 

Cause they more feminine than women that bore children and they more feminine than George Zimmerman 

Shout out BET for all the airplay, my old job is bricks under the stairway 

See I ain't one of them rappers rapping about they trapping(?) 

They really ain't trapping, I'm put work in the streets, I'm merking the [beats](undefined) err'day 

My conversation is on but I wanna walk in every BET cypher and murder every rapper spitting 

Call it hip hop population control 

Hashtag FOH, they wanna crucify Crooked I, why, cause I'm bossy 

But I'm so street look both ways before you cross me 

Killing all is what I came to do 

Black entertainment smacking you white entertainers too 

House gang, anybody can get it 

I got bands for anybody who with it 

I'm the best note theoretical quotient 

In alphabetical order I slaughter every rapper 

And since I'm strictly West Coast I dump his head in the ocean 

Pacific ocean, the specific ocean, I'm sipping potion 

Listening to you rap, you ain't saying nothing 

You talking bread stunting, you talking red buttons 

I'm pushing a red button and all my weapons going Karrine Steffans 

That mean they head hunting 

Homie you garbage, you probably learned to rap at ICDC college 

[Verse 3: Royce Da 5'9"] 

Slaughterhouse, state of emergency 

Bars for days, Mardi Gras, Bourbon Street 

Silencing this 9 so no noise flash out 

Shout out to Big Sean and Doughboyz Cashout 

Shoutout to [?] 

From doing me I stayed in the pocket 

Now all I'm trying to do is give Halle Berry a baby today, then I'm outtie tomorrow 

After that maybe Drake can adopt it 

You missed me with your "Who the hottest?" list 

Only demand I got is I ain't sharin' no spots 

I light your baby mama house on fire while she in it 

And turn around and tell her now it's apparent she hot 

The McLaren is dropped, I was riding shotgun with Em before anyone could compared him to Pac 

They don't call us the return of the house for nothing 

We taking real estate back 

Killers stay strapped 

Leave a rapper with gorilla face, flat 

I went away and came back like smack 

My mental state 

You 'bout to fall trying to see the [winter](undefined) break 

Wish I could take all of that Gucci out of my closet 

And that vest that Joey wore on show on that dinner date 

And shoot it 'til it disintergrates 

You think I fell off, then you either out of your mind 

Or inside of your mind lookin' out of your [blinds](undefined) countin' my truths 

While I'm out at your momma's house sippin' the fountain of youth 

I'm nice 

[Verse 4: Joe Budden] 

I ain't with the chit-chat 

Punch me, I'll show up where you live at pitch black 

Both of y'all can relax when it kick back 

Tryna run like that will give you the right of way 

I'm quick on my feet I can moonwalk sideways 

God like flow, Jesus rapping 

Housegang, Jesus rapping 

He's just yapping, all that beef and scrapping like Miley Cyrus twerking 

Something supposed to be shaking, I just never see it happen 

That other chick that would try to get cute 

Not a dime but she's shooting and her Vines never loop 

But she'd suck the whole group if she'd ride for the night 

And turn Slaughterhouse into City High for a night 

Forget where the Ruger put, your crew is shook 

Ahead of my time, get you hit now from a Future hook 

If lyrics matter we will spare the matter 

But none of that is important cause what you wear is a factor 

And it's getting me upset, riddle me for a sec 

Literally unimpressed with who y'all pick to be the best 

So if I'm chosing where to aim it'll be his head 

Just to kill whoever's nice, now chivalry is dead 

It's either you or me, since you love hip hop 

I'll have Wale say spoken word at your eulogy 

Joey, Team Shady, Slaughter dudes 

When you talkin' about the best rappers it's rhetorical