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lirik lagu slaughterhouse - sucka mc's

[intro: dj drama]
sometimes you gotta wonder
maybe it’s the compet-tive nature of the game
the story k!lls them

[verse 1: freeway]
this is the way the story goes, when you in it for the dough
and you swinging for the fence, close friends’ll turn to foes
act just like hoes, want you to get the dinner for ’em
n-ggas trying to slow; walk me but i been up on ’em
partly cause part of me got love for ’em
but a part of me got a slug for ’em
it’s hard for me, he was there from the start of me
shared gear. see, part of me still cares
but part of me feels, he ’bout to come to my house to slaughter me
wait ’til i hit the balcony, then dr. martin me
this heart full of larceny, they think i’m the dollar tree
since i’m the n-gga with the weight and they ain’t
they’re like p90x trying to make me lose calories
state prop chain-gang maintain salary
freezer sends his goons through hourly, devouring
it’s just the philly in me
word to joey crack, jealous ones envy, sucka mc’s
f-ck haters, get cheese

[hook x2]
i can see my friends
turn green with envy
(jealous ones envy, sucka mc’s
f-ck haters, get cheese)

[verse 2: royce da 5’9″]
i said, with friends like these, who needs enemies
inside this evil industry, where the green breeds greed, envy, and schemes
and schemes of b & e’s and dreams of seeing me up under guillotines
but the desert eagle i’m bringing with me can be its wings
it’s supposed to be about respect
your boys will watch you spend some of your dough and then they’ll count the rest and bounce before you can bounce a check
he not jealous, he just wants you to split whatever you get with him
and all that he sees is all that you bought and it sticks with him
the snake in the gr-ss from the garden of eden, it bit him
the first recorded sin, for 4 to 10 to 25 to life
i can quote stories of lead from the top of my head like i don’t write
drunk and high on life, i learned to back up my own hype
when i had to steal back my own bike, pastor’s on me like “p-ss the collection plates” of white on rice
god fearing, my only flaw’s my giving heart
it’s not conducive to being frugal and living smart
maybe i’ll die dumb
leaving behind a beautiful corpse known for my hand on my b-lls like cy young
eyes numb from constantly staying open
and constantly being haunted by promises they broken
we supposed to get money

[hook x2]

[verse 3: crooked i]
the bottom of a vodka bottle describes my drink behavior
you’re far from biblical scriptures if you’re thinking a drink can save ya
what happens when your s-m-n donor leaves the streets to raise ya?
you raise your heat, ready to go ham like lincoln abra
ay bruh, i know this stripper
who was talking to this n-gga, who was talking while he tipped her
bout the pitches and zippers he be flipping to get them chippers
he told her about his stash, slip of the the tongue off the liquor
yeah i used to d-ck her, now i call her my play sister
yeah, we can trust her, we can bust in on that buster while he’s with her
with a ski mask, gloves and snubs doin it like a crook should
slapped a b-tch up a couple of times to make it look good
he said, “d-mn, crooked, you’re frozen cold”
when i’m broke, these are the types of thoughts that overload my dome
when i’m alone i done dirt that i never ever even told a soul
but my soul knows ortiz, i need to slow my role

[verse 4: joell ortiz]
you little suckers, muh’f-cker
i put a verse frm everyone a you dud busters in fuddruckers
got swinging but going nowhere; mud putters
walking ’round all sour you little bud puffers
i’m done dudda, shottas, papa
i let the gun stutter, clap at booty, n-ggas, i gun b-tt ya
one mother, no father, no sisters no brother
couple cousins, why bother, i’m one of one plus, uh
who gives a f-ck about the next man, my jet land
your face all blue, orange you’re mad like a mets fan
i’m brooklyn, like the atlantic ave. nets and
i run with wildcats like the next season’s jets plans
feel the fire like rex-man
you make one half of smif & wessun sign to russell, man you’re tech jam
kuz its rusty ain’t been popped in forever
my glock sever your top. better not diddy-bop through my block in your lever
p-ssy

[hook]

- lirik lagu slaughterhouse

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