Me and you (we coming)
Your mama and your cousin too (we coming)
That 'hood rat bitch that's in love with you (we coming)
We coming for 'em
You know what we do, why we do, and how we do it
[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9"]
I said the kid's the dawg
Everybody dying, no lying
Living the life of a serpent
My enemy said some shit
I'm rolling up in the Viper
To wipe him, it's perfect
(Come out your house!)
This is offensive minded gents that get a blind defence
This reminds me of Joey checking Consequence
(Everyone enjoy their day!)
I sound calm but in my mind I'm hunting you down
Like you tried to climb the fence
Split your spleen while you with your queen
Fuck the mood of the room up like it ain't no thing
Obama take away my right to bare arms
I'm putting a sweater around the Uzi
And walking around with it like it's my toy dog
Your boy bark like Altmen, augmentation takes place
Often if they face off
You callin' me sober, so what? Save the shit
I done drank so much I don't even know what being famous is
The difference between the D-list and the A-list, bitch
All I know is I'm a hop, skip and a sniff away
From doing a play to Taylor Swift
That'd be the day, you haters wish
That day I'm standing up at that platform at the Grammy show
Dressed up like The Dream living a nightmare
On Xanies, coke and handling more than
God can throw upon the shoulders of an addict
I'm Michael Jackson
Whitney Houston wrapped up in the plastic package
My only true concern is what I'm going through after rapping
Maybe I'll clap your ass and just do life
'Fore I break in this new knife
All I wanted to do was...
[Verse 2: Joell Ortiz]
Rappety, rapppety, rappety, rappety rap
That's all I'm good for?
Nah, I was that nigga that asked you
Why you in my 'hood for?
You know them good folk?
That's your cousin?
Oh, your aunt lice in that building?
Well then your uncle should have told you
Don't wear no gold like you just chillin'
Now I'm gon' need that chain you wearing, no hard feelings
Since I know them people you said you kinfolk to
Won't be no killing
Though I'm willin' to leave you spillin'
Like oil when they fuck up drilling
I'm no villain
I'm just playing the hand I was dealt
Ain't none of us out here did the dealing
We all grew up in a full house
We were born as Lord's children
Straight in the projects, faces flush, just finished stealing
This ain't no pokerface, boy!
Ain't no bluffin'
All that huffing and puffing for what?
You giving up something
Either your life or all that ice you should've had tucked in
Now see, back in the days Diallo was a trap
Scribbling raps up in my trapper keeper
Don't keep calling me "this here rapper"
I emcee, get it right, Jack Dempsey with the right
Mayweather with the left
Pacquiáo say goodnight
You don't wanna box me papi
Your footwork sloppy
I'll knock anybody out
That ain't no punch line, man, I'm like Rocky
I'm a quarter of the Slaughter
Four fourths of a New Yorker
You know the aura
...fits, cheese, Timbs and Chinese food orders
[Verse 2: Crooked I]
My goon leveld be equal to Beanie Sigel
Shooting at a moving vehicle from the seat of a Jeep Eagle
Then I’m switching the Jeep Eagle ditching it for a cheap Regal
Come back with a street sweeper and continue to sleep people
When I squeeze lethal shots you meet evil
Drop the street sweeper, cock the D Egale
Pop you, see real
Hemisphere, the end is near, nigga the menace here
Bitches asking me if 'Em is here
Shit he probably playing tennis in his lair
Rocking the diamond worth the city of Venice in his ear
While I’m getting more chin than...
Hold on, that shit is weird
I was gonna say getting more chin
Than a nigga tryina enter the Guiness with his beard
Shady Records getting the ladies naked using baby effort
While you niggas inviting hoes to your crib
Knowing your spot is smaller than those on a baby leopard
Get on my level, maybe never
Crazy Mercedes, navy leather seats leaning
The streets fiending, to find somebody who go about
Putting they whole family on, you'd have to meet Keenan
Wayans, bar for bar, where do I weigh in?
No clue, its Goku, I'm super, I'm just sayin….
[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
Next shit, Flex shit
Right back on our shit again
Shady street, house gang
But they won't let us live again
Monday to Friday, I pull up in a different Benz
Just in case they thought I was losing focus
Nigga, switch your lens
Critically acclaimed to critically defamed
After all I've done did for this industry
These kids should be ashamed, dawg
Maybe I haven't done a thing and that's a fantasy...
I'm that self-centered much, got to pardon my vanity
Wait, sometimes it called for
You've got to get bragadocios
The only way to get the attention
To those that's having numbers
Mine the only genre that don't see no more consistency
So when I say I'm nice, they ain't know how far the distance be...
'Cause to me it's undeniable
There, who they depend on, never been unreliable
The hotter shit means nada
If them dudes ain't bringing fire
So when make this list half of the shit be justifiable
Jerse shit, Jerse shit - remember me from Bentley, kid?
Never went diamond but the buckets on the Bentley did
Coupe shit my new shit
'Cause it's something they should know first
Ya mixtape ain't shit if the shit ain't got a Joe verse
A standout Slaughterhouse cut from Funkmaster Flex's enormous "Who You Mad At? Mr Or Yourself?" mixtape.