[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]
I been here before and I don't mean the last cypher
I'm a pen and pad sniper
When y'all make it rain, it make your lil' stash lighter
When I make it rain, you driving on tough terrain in a lemon with bad wipers
I hear all the noise like mad bikers
Hip-hop making a big stink like if Shaq had diapers
Bunch of half ass liars, with mad hyper reactions to the,, backpack writers
But the pack's back, tigers
Be a hyena that laughs at lions
Let you body something then I snatch that, try 'em
And a left hook will send your lil' snapback flyin'
Put you birds in the dirt like I sacked Matt Ryan
I never tried to be cool, it's just finesse
But as a man there's a few of your moves I must address
Not tryna' judge but, ooh I must confess
Never thought I'd see hip-hop dudes under a dress
But back to me, I'm smooth, one of the best
Better than you, two letters from "U" up on the chest
But no red cape, just redbones in red bottoms
High ready to shred weights in a Redman’s red tape
They see how the God rolling
Gold seven and the car dash crack like Lamar Odom
You hear the bars that my squad holdin'
And BET thank us again for another hard moment, YAOWA
[Verse 2: Crooked I]
Now my father might try to call me after seein' the show
I only answer my smartphone for people I know, dummy
Probably a janitor, father like son
The cypher is full of crumbs, I'm just sweepin' the floor
Hol' up, Pac, Big, and them, Nas, Eminem, I'm your synonym
War sentiment, tore ignorant rappers with poor penmanship
Unloading my clip in full increments
Leaving you on your condominium floor twisted with torn ligaments
Born eminent, the boy killer for more Benjamins
More dividends, warn women and warn children and
Tell 'em this Californian born citizen is getting rid of them illegitimate rappers
Cause they more feminine than women that bore children
And they more feminine than George Zimmerman
Shout out BET for all the airplay
My old job is bricks under the stairway
See I ain't one of them rappers rapping about they trapping
They really ain't trapping, I'm put work in the streets
I'm murking the beats err'day
My conversation is on but I wanna walk in every BET cypher and murder every rapper spitting
Call it hip-hop population control
Hashtag FOH, they wanna crucify Crooked I
Why, cause I'm bossy, but I'm so street look both ways before you cross me
Kill 'em all is what I came to do
Black entertainment smacking you White entertainers too
Housegang, anybody can get it
I got bands for anybody who with it
I'm the best note theoretical quotient
In alphabetical order, I slaughter every rapper
And since I'm strictly West Coast I dump his head in the ocean
Pacific Ocean, the specific ocean, I'm sipping potion
Listening to you rap, you ain't saying nothin'
You talking bread stuntin', you talking red buttons
I'm pushing a red button and all my weapons going Karrine Steffans
That mean they head hunting
Homie you garbage, you probably learned to rap at ICDC college
[Verse 3: Royce Da 5'9"]
Slaughterhouse, state of emergency
Bars for days; Mardi Gras, Bourbon Street
Silencin' this 9 so no noise flash out
Shout out to Big Sean and Doughboyz Cashout
Shoutout to Yeezus, 99 I been rapin' his pocket
From doing me I stayed in the pocket
Now all I'm trying to do is give Halle Berry a baby today
Then I'm outtie tomorrow, after that maybe Drake can adopt it
You missed me with your "Who the hottest" list
Only demand that I got is I ain't sharin' no spots
I light your baby mama house on fire while she in it
And turn around and tell her now it's apparent she hot
The McLaren is dropped
I was riding shotgun with Em before anyone compared him to Pac
They don't call us the return of the house for nuttin'
We taking real estate back
Seal a fate faster than a gas-masked asthmatic with his face wrapped in a plastic pillow case in a safe, trapped
Killer stay strapped, in your place
Leave a rapper with the Leno face, flat
I went away and came back like smack on the interstate
My mental state is winner take all
You 'bout to fall tryna see the winter break
Wish I could take all of that Gucci out of my closet
And that vest that Joey wore on show on that dinner date
Shoot it 'til it disintergrates
You think I fell off, then you either out of your mind
Or inside of your mind
Lookin' out of your blinds, countin' my truths
While I'm out at your Momma house sippin' the fountain of youth, I'm nice
[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
I ain't with the chit-chat
Punch me, I'll show up where you live at
Pitch black, both of y'all can relax when it kick back
Tryna run like that'll give you the right of way
I'm quick on my feet I can moonwalk sideways
God like flow, Jesus rapping; Housegang, G's is rapping
He's just yapping, all that beef and scrapping like Miley Cyrus twerkin'
Something supposed to be shaking, I just never see it happen
Gotta ugly chick that'll try to get cute
Not a dime but she's shooting and her Vines never loop
But she'd suck the whole group if she'd ride for the night
And turn Slaughterhouse into City High for a night
Forget where the Ruger put, your crew is shook
Ahead of my time, get you hit now from a Future hook
If lyrics matter we will spare the matter
But none of that is important cause what you wear is a factor
And it's getting me upset, riddle me for a sec
Literally unimpressed with who y'all pick to be the best
So if I'm chosin' where to aim it'll be his head
Just to kill whoever's nice, now chivalry is dead
It's either you or me, since you love hip-hop
I'll have Wale say spoken word at your eulogy
Joey, Team Shady, Slaughter dudes
When you talk about the best rappers it's rhetorical