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dj green lantern "d.o.a." freestyle part 2 - slaughterhouse lyrics

[verse 1: joell ortiz]
my name’s bizzing — i mean, buzzing; y’all get the drift
i will finish n-ggas’ careers with three fingertips
three fingertips — thumb, index, and middle joint
ones that support the pen that’s finna begin the renaissance
it’s safe to say i’m a one-man restaurant
the chef, the waiter, the guest that’s getting his menu on
i cook it, i serve it, i eat it, understand?
if it don’t taste good, how can i feed it to my fans?
these n-ggas is cheating, feeding you from a can
without a seasoned beat, they weak — the meat’ll be bland
the reason i am who i am cause my work ethic
is similar to helen keller’s, you could tell by my verse methods
first i hear a track, try to see where i’m going
then once i see where i’m going, that’s when i listen back
and when i feel it’s intact, i give the engineer dap
walk in that booth and lay that one take crack
if rap was jail, you’d be the one they’d smack
on the island like, “you whilin’, this is a one-way jack”
and you don’t rock on slot, i had the block on lock
you’ll be arguing all loud so the f-cking cops could stop it before it pop
but stop it, if this gon’ happen to will
shouldn’t have hopped in the car if you couldn’t handle the wheel
i went crazy with this gift, baby
i could get lazy, go to sleep and get where i got to get safely
mr. ortiz may be the best thing that happens to hip-hop
since out in the park in the mid ’80s
every time i pick a mic, all the lights dim
ladies that ain’t know me leave my show like, “i like him”
fellas that ain’t know me leave my show like, “that kid is tough”
they’da said i’m great, but it’s hard to relate to different stuff
i can’t blame em though, they hear what they hear daily
i come once a blue moon, i’m what they hear rarely
a lot of my peers fear me
change ain’t easy to adapt to, actually i honestly think i scare family
so: dear granny, ain’t nothin wrong with your grandson
look at me all grown, intelligent and handsome
but it’s a must i hold this music sh-t for ransom
they owe me everything i’m demanding and some
been on my grind since early ’99
or was it late ’98? f-ck it, either way it’s my time
people say i define the true meaning of ‘my goodness’
i like that, that means nothing i write’s bullsh-t
not that i’d ever second guess my pen
just need to hear that sometimes to remind me that i am him
the hulk hogan of flowing, the prayers and the vitamins
24 inch pythons that’ll damage your iron chin
no i’m not brolic, but the powers that lie within
my pen and paper enable me to change the environment
my pain’ll make the rain, triumph’ll make the sun shine
tornados when i’m angry, hurricanes when it’s crunch time
blizzards when n-ggas thinking they hot
and the hail that symbolizes the impact of our album when it drops
and when this all stops, and you could feel a slight breeze
that means i’m at ease — you could sneak in your dvds
and your lil’ mixtapes, and your promos for the djs
but until then, everything’s slow-mo like a replay
this my first relay race, i’m the decathlon dapper don
i will lap you in a marathon
i’m a walking jewel — 24 karat arms
a platinum heart, and a diamond mind full of marijuan
and my kidneys probably house the most precious stones
that’s my fault — that liquor was never left alone
so til i rest on the throne, the game’s in a time machine
the dial is set to rome’s ancient terror dome
i’m maximus of this rapping sh-t, the mic is my sword
i take on an army of soldiers, horses and carriages
and when they’re laying there too injured to move
give me the thumbs down and i swear i’ll finish these dudes
how can i have mercy when first of all they ain’t that worthy
of positions they hold and i’ll roast em — gimme that jersey!
i’mma guarantee a championship
it’s going down like a methadone and ambien mix
if rap was product on the street, you probably barely a six
smoke my sh-t, you’d probably sell me ya family and sh-t
like, “yo, here’s my sister, i’ll pick her up on the first
mattafact, take my niece too — i just need another verse!
you got the best sh-t i’ve had in a little minute
matta’fact, take my grandmoms, her cook game’s exquisite”
i’m just joking but artists should get their wrists broken
for selling that garbage and tellin the fans, “sh-t’s smoking”
i know you’re sick hoping i quit, but i never will
and even when y’all break out, i be the benadryl
just make sure that your return is short
make sure fans ain’t infected with your allergic thoughts, n-gga
my word is born, and my pride is a motherf-cker
house on the hill is what i promised my mother, f-ckers
and she gon’ get that

[verse 2: crooked i]
crooked i’s cold blooded like i got a rick james degree
i’m so thuggish, switch lanes with me
i’m so thuggish, hoes love it, flip change, live dangerously
homie, you lames spit game for free
yeah, i’m right this man writes his rhymes like his life’s in a crisis
i’m twice as sick as ms. anne rice is
i stand right up, holding the mic lifeless
you might like my concise preciseness – it’s like this
cats came in this rap game and
claimin’ they gat aimin and crack slayin
them n-ggas is actors like matt damon
homie, my gat will slay men, you cat’s say when then – bloawww
i roll up on ya block, then i blast
cops fiending to ask, “who shot you?” while you rock an oxygen mask
i hit the flack and then spazz to the spot with the glock
locked in the stash spot, got the glock in the dash
my six cruise on big shoes, i’m a lit fuse
with sick views i got issues i misuse
pistols, say we in combat
i spazz out like a crazy vietnam cat
it’s young crooked, yeah you had a leg then my pump took it
now you hip-hop cuz you one-footed
i l!ck shots, drop become bullets
i leave scenes sicker than hitchc-ck, news won’t even run footage
i comes hooded just like a grim reaper
slim keep a nine double m heater
i creep in the streets, deep in the seats of a jeep
beatin’ new releases through ten speakers, it gets deeper
i’m bringin’ that long beach feeling back!
catch me on the east side where all of my k!llers at
but my enemies don’t wear a raiders, saints or steelers hats
they wear a badge, n-gga — how real is that?
no matter what, ghetto life is still in my veins
if you poverty living, i know you feeling my pain
i’m still sick in the brain, sk!lls spit with such meticulous game
shoot ridiculous like nicholas van exel
guess who’s s-xin’ your stepdaughters?
a n-gga who could draw glocks better than sketch artists
now when i walk in the club, hug ya ho
hustlas know, i’m nutso with the thugster flow
everything is open, nothing is closed
magazines throwing slaughter on the cover to pose
look at young poppy – c-cky, never sold one copy
guns c-cked, rocky, please come stop me!
so and so is cool, what’s-his-name is ehh
homeboy is ok, slaughterhouse is crack
that’s my word, that’s what’s heard
act absurd, you cats get served, i rap disturbed
i’m closin’ doors with the quickness
i’m pokin’ hoes in the poconos, hopin you don’t poke ya nose in my business
haters, scopin those from the friskers
relentless foes get a broken nose for persistence
absolutely, n-ggas bringin gats to shoot me
even watchin you f-ckin wacks actin goofy
disguised as groupies, that’s a doozy
what’s that bulge under my shirt? that’s an uzi, excuse me
i’m just here on sirius to spray targets
don’t make me leave a n-gga dead on green’s gray carpet
you n-ggas ain’t f-ckin with me are they, lantern?
a n-gga so high i think that i could see saturn
listen to the funky -ss speech pattern
after i finish rapping, ask yourself, “does the beat matter?”
it don’t matter, n-ggas’ll all shatter
i’ll spray your f-ckin mind data all over your sweater
oh- what?

- slaughterhouse lyrics

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