[Intro: DJ Premier]
One, two, I go by the name of DJ Premier
I got my man Royce da 5'9"
And we are known as PRhyme
We'll be here to bring it to you live
Lyrics, Beats, The Backroom, BET
You know how it go
Royce, show 'em what time it is, brother

[Verse 1: Royce da 5'9"]
Slaughterhouse
These n***as want to see me running, they know I won't
They say misery loves company, no I don't
Ain't got no time for you to try on no Manolo Blahnik
All I got time to do is go back in time and pose
With the unibomber just so that I could go back in time
The second time to photobomb it
I live by the code of demonic, Illuminati, Obama, Hovanomics, hold up
Hurdles in life, I hop in the turbo and roll around them
I'm Doug E. Fresh in the flesh, I beatbox
I (*beatbox noise*) between the sheets to see the G spot
I'm in bed with three naked ladies holding hands
I embed with three major labels
And I'm ain't talking 'bout wearing clothing brands
Underground locomotive man
Putting on a global show that no promoter can
I philosophize with wise words from learned lessons
In my world, mistakes turn into blessing
The hate turn to destiny, I'm saying Lord Jesus
While the Lord's most gorgeous creatures take turns fucking me
I got your baby mama down on all fours
When drama coming, I'm all for it
If it ain't 'bout the money, please let this be your last question
You players can jump if you want, but you half-stepping like Paul George
I make n***as invisible in like a day or two
That's how the players do it my n***a, they're layers to it
Your favorite rapper's up in LIV
While I'm on controlled substances, search around my crib for a fuck to give
But I couldn't find it
My notebook should be made of a wooden binder
Cause that's what my albums be sellin'
But I don't give a fuck about nothin' but good vagina
Long as these n***as call me GOAT
If I don't get through to you the call failed
Cause I was probably on that Wolf of Wall Street boat, I'm a hard sell
Maybe too lyrical for 'em
The Lord gave me a choice to either be king or give all Hell
I chose the latter like a fireman climbin' up to a charred rail
In front of Miley, steerin' a giant wreckin' ball
Miss me with your mollies and your Tyrese wisdom
I don't connect with y'all and these antics
Today you give your life to the game
Tomorrow you be posin' in pictures, lookin' like Steve Francis
You ain't turnin' up, you're bein' backhanded like Pete Sampras
About that, I missed my uncle's funeral to go to South by Southwest
You ain't gotta appreciate it, but you better respect the fact
That I'm a rapper and nothin' wack done came out my mouth yet
PRhyme