slaughterhouse – sun doobie

por favor espere um momento...

“sun doobie”

“get more for your money, when you f-ck with mr. porter-r-r-r-r…”

[joell ortiz]
as long as i got my pen i don’t need a friend
we got ears that we each’ll lend each other, my brother just hollered at me again
he said he tired of all the lyin, deceivin and
d-ck-ridin the people providin on every beat but when
i do it it’s stupid, i bruise it like a bad b-tch
i lose it, my music’s a movement and they just mad stiff
i told ’em it’s mathematical in this pad lift
point ’em out and i will subtract him, with an ad lib
see the fact is (what) i’m a b-st-rd
how can i not be (macho, man)? i’m a (savage)
in the past i was p-ssive, now i’m mad b-tch
i’m spazzin, you get an adidas cl-ssic where yo’ -ss is

[royce da 5’9″]
eh-eh, eh-eh, nickel ain’t the one at all
sn-tch your vocal chords out then plug ’em in my wall
you a knife at a gun fight, our sh-t is raw
you a square, you’re silverware in a civil war
the slaughterhouse wolf pack, riders under the moon
the reason you itchin wit’cha lighter under your spoon
i’m a lover, the lead bustin is old to me
you put your head in her b-tt, i headb-tt the ovaries
god dipped me in war paint for all weathers
i’m mr. spill the liquor on my alcohol tether
no need to ride with n-body, i feel the heat can help me
your jean’s skinnier than em is when he eatin healthy, hahaha

whoa, whoa, whoa
whoa, whoa, whoa, shaaady!
whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
{“mr. porter-r-r-r-r…”}

[joe budden]
outnumbered, outspoken, outcasted
outweighed outrageous odds and outlasted
outlandish, so i learned to outwit ’em
i outsmart ’em, outgrew ’em, i outdid ’em
cream, out-bid ’em, team can’t out-spit him
(you could) keep sleepin, your wet dream is out with him
(see) do a lil’ yoga, a lil’ kama sutra
steakhouse n-gg-, used to be a ramen noodler
heavy on b and e’s, was a calm intruder
pumped a ruger, moms called me con and loser
i suggest you and your mans’ll regroup (why?)
bet against it, and probably can’t recoup – out!

[crooked i]
i point a pistol at your mamma mia
i’m sick as tyson in the ring at the colosseum with gonorrhea
f-ck a rapper, my clapper black as muhammadiya
f-ck you r&b b-tches, shut up! you not aaliyah
(ha ha!) when mr. porter record a piano
producers may wanna order some ammo
i’m a california corner reporter
your boy wasn’t born with a quarter bein poor as a wh-r- and i’m an aura
it’s sorta soprano; look here
we reinvent the wheel to have a (good year) – and y’all tired
we like tyler perry mixed with everlast
the house of payne/pain, slaughterhouse gang n-gg-!


- letras de slaughterhouse

Letras aleatórias