Lyrics Onslaught 2 - Slaughterhouse

Royce: Yeah, I said,
Once upon a time in the city that's mine
There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime
Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind
Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design
My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes
I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton
I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs
Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds
The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets
Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police
If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat
Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps
I get indicted after my products release
We a different form, different centrifugal force
Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche
My niggas ask what direction they go on this track
I said "Fuck a direction, spaz out"
Get 'em up high
Female: Crooked
Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made
I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade
Explode to your grave
And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved
For the role that you played
In fuckin' up hip-hop
You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain
Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade
Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E
With Nickel we gon' make more cheese
Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)
I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth
On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef
I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill
It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets
Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun
Eyelids heavy, "Why did Crooked have to come?"
He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb
Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun
Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame
And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained
Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim
And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different
The West Coast King, Crooked I
I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die
Get 'em up high
Female: Joell
Joell: Here we go again, you know of him
Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs
Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze
Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever
I'm like a hundred fifty degrees
16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease
A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased
Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream
The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem
When I'm spittin' it's mean
Me and government intervene
A couple presidents literally live in my jeans
Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything
When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene
And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am
Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane
I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first
I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words
I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs
When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like "Word!"
City slicker New York delivery when I swerve
Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty
I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year
Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air
And hold 'em up high!
Female: Joey
Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far
Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars
And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars
And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb
See that bullet coming from around the corner
Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one
I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill
I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills
For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled
He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed
Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as
No good straight jacket, all I did break the match
They say he talk tough with his fake ass
Four pounds put me in another weight class
Great Escape the pad
Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask
You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?
Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas
Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious
In your whole camp, nobody focused
They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree
You die and come back, won't nobody notice
Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping
Hanging out the window, like it's "227"
Get 'em up HIGH
Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high
Get 'em up high, get 'em up high
Get 'em up high, in the sky
Put 'em up high, put 'em up high
Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky
Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse
Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse
Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse
Put 'em high, woo! Ohh