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2011 Pt. 3
Joe Budden, Royce Da 5'9", Eminem, Yelawolf, Joell Ortiz, Crooked I
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Welcome to Detroit
This is the BET Shady 2.0 Cypher 2011
Myself, Slaughterhouse and Yelawolf
White dog (thank you cracker), get 'em
Let's get 'em, yeah
Put these motherfuckers in a box and I send 'em away
Put 'em in a gray 'Lac and pop the trunk
Hey, throw 'em in the back, jack, I dig 'em a grave
Put a brick inside that Xerox, when I print 'em a page
Moving ki's, I can't relate, 'cause I live in a cage
I throw up an A, I take 'em to school, I give 'em a grade
An easy E for effort, that's WWA
White with an attitude, alphabet soup is on my plate
All I got is Z's, they sleeping on me, I can't get 'em awake
I spoon feed 'em a sound in a room full of deceivers and clowns
Who believe they making it rain 'cause all they see is the clouds
And I watch from the couch of the VIP like a potato
With a bunch of meatheads, like, fuck it, I just feed 'em a cow
Plenty of white boys to pick from this year
But before you pick a pepper, you better pick up your heater
'Cause even Peter Piper could pick up a mic
But what it's like to pick a fight with me
It's like puttin' Nikes on a cheetah, better speed up
Or at least in my case, Adidas
I'm out this bitch, drinkin' Sprite by the 2 liter
Holler, Shady Records (uh)
Now I need the scratch to get me amped, man
(Ayo, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait) I'm 'bout to get 'em
I'm 'bout to get 'em, I'm 'bout to get 'em (wait, wait)
I'm 'bout to get 'em (okay)
Yo, say I'm from the new school
I'ma say, "Check your tone and watch your mouth"
If they teachin' how to dougie, I'm condoning droppin' out
Forced to wile, y'all birthed me and gave me up
I just perfected being hip-hops foster child, now check it
Don't blame y'all for being trash fans and copping it
The radio's the crime scene, the masses are the hostages
In my youth, I'd throw shots, the fam was dodging it
I'm grown, I ain't watchin' the throne, I'm sabotaging it
You see that four-headed monster and the storm looms
Snipe 'em from a distance, the scope got a long zoom
You Super Mario thugs is in the wrong room
Got a figure here, you won't get bigger if you on shrooms
Was left to me, I'd revive what the game be 'bout
I'd have took the wine outta Amy house
Enough raps from you scrub cats 'bout cocking a snub back
Wayne couldn't teach me how to love that
But I got this chick from uptown, she my summer bunny
Both parents broke but she comes from money
Think my bread is her paper to burn
So I lock her out and now she doubt David is Stern
She so bad, I make her hit the telly from a taxi
Then dead her in the Holiday Inn, learnt that from Max B
That's why the haters of every kind wanna send me llamas
I made it right before they eyes like I was Benihanas
Is it me or is what I'm hearing just pitiful?
Airwaves the same, now the stereo's typical
My skin thick so the critics ignored
So unafraid to die, you think I did it before
The boy's Rodman with the trash talk
Magical walk with the black ball, way I bounce off the asphalt
With cat paws, glass jaw
Hoody and mask would be the black folk with no passport
Body be found in the mansion in one of my trap doors
If punks had awards, you status whores category
Probably be that of a war 'tween Michael Rappaport and Kenny Lattimore
I know hip-hop's alive and well
If it died, you other crews wouldn't survive the smell
Ladies and gentlemen (you're scared now)
Make that face at 'em, dawg
Crooked up, get 'em
I spot a victim
The plot'll thicken when the clock is tickin'
I caught 'em slippin'
I gotta give 'em a shot, I hit 'em with proper spittin'
Hottest writtens and compositions
So competition's a contradiction
Did somebody mention they got a Crooked?
Highly fiction, we probably different, got Gotti henchmen
Opposition, our body quick as Bugatti engines
I'm on a mission to get richer
The sickest lyric kicker
Diggin' a ditch for different spitters
Weak lyricists get disfigured
Sip liquor, spit like a sick mixture of Notorious, Pun, and L
Get the big picture
The poster, I'll roast ya'
My mind so deadly, it's just like the beanie is close to a holster
It's over, control my whole coastal region like I'm supposed to
Flow is goin' postal even, open season
Heart close to freezin', ruthless is easy, nigga
Approach, I'm squeezing, believe me
Dopest West coaster breathing
So most y'all hope I'm vegan
No pun, beefing
Rappers need to keep it trill
Give me a beat to kill
Too many people still eating sleeping pills
People sleeping on my ether skills
And y'all ain't even real
You 'bout to die in this cypher
Before you die, you should do the Jada and leave a Will
For real (uh, uh)
Yaooowa (yo)
I ain't a rap dude, I'm a dude who rap
Before this, I was movin' crack
Them killers y'all become when y'all rhyme, I salute and dap
And if I blink, then remove your snaps
You ain't cool, you whack
Wit' your foolish yack
Skinny jeans don't mean your ass shoot, it means your booty claps
Don't play like Tyler Perry, this the Slaughterhouse of pain
Flow brown, tight and heavy
When it comes to 16's, I'm a fiend, fiending a studio
Near a needle with a mean lean
Probably writin' bars to Nas' "Thief Theme"
Gettin' my Yaowa on, may all these Olajuwon's be the dream team
This is an all-day slaughter
They fiendin' for us to break like Beyonce's water
The four quarters doin' all the eating
And y'all gotta know why I made the cut, I'm Puerto Rican
Ortiz keep the fire ready
And tryna put me out's like tryna steal a transvestite from Eddie
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Alright, ay yo (yeah Joe?)
Alright go ahead an' rap
Yeah (beautiful miracles)
I'm do or die dope
And you can make the sticker sittin' on the door
Of that Phantom your suicide note
Hi, Rihanna, is Nicki living wit' you? Let me know
So I can buy binoculars and telescopes
Hi, Rihanna, I don't need to know you better
You tell me you love my music again, we go together
Bye, Rihanna, now back to y'all fools
We rock out like the outside of a guitar school
Thousand dollar frames I prefer to see the world through
Don't ask me nothin' 'bout Budden, I beat my girl too
You ask me why do I keep her? I say "It's cheaper to"
That's why I ride around in a Rolls like Wiz Khalifa do
Rappers, I'm your daddy, I tell you straight as this
You don't kill but your father Will like Jaden Smith
I tell you like I tell my Spanish chick
You fly but I ain't goin' down on no landing strip
So get your wax on like Daniel-son
Or I'ma have to run like De La Hoya in drag when cameras come
Point out the greatest rapper alive, I headshot 'em
Smack his girl on the butt and buy her some red bottoms
Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife
While I'm cyber sexing with Jessica Alba, via Skype
I'm on my d-boy, d-bo thing
Spiritual steelo swing like Cee-Lo Green
Get out the camera with your B Roll bling, you know your flow is whack
We cornered the market like a Wal-Mart in a cul-de-sac
Yeah, this what 2,000,000 singles sold and an album that's gold look like
Without having to sell your soul, Nickle
Oh, wait (Shady)
Wait, go 'head (you better get 'em too)
Go 'head (you the boss, you better get 'em)
Wait, can I rap? (You the boss though, you better...)
Yeah, me rap? (You better represent)
Ayo, lyrical, miracle, spiritual individual, criminal, subliminal
In your swimming pool
Come on man, kick that, kick that shit I wrote
Drop it
Kick the shit I wrote that one time, like God bless ya
Yeah yeah yeah
You 'bout to see peace destroyed, it'll never be restored
When I unleash these beastly hoards on your CD stores
Wanna stop it? You gon' need a priest, at least three swords
A license to ill from the Beastie Boys, three Ouija boards
And a squeegee, and please be warned
Don't ask what the squeegees for
Or the holy water, acid rap that'll eat these floors
Eat a hole in a rhyme book, you see these horns?
And as for me, you ask when I'm gone "Will he be mourned?"
Is puke lukewarm? Should Casey Anthony do porn?
Can that chick fit a newborn dead baby inside a freakin' shoebox?
With a shoehorn, smothered in chloroform so she can go get her groove on?
Can she duct tape and Velcro a fetus? Joell, yo
Tell Joe I need his empty box from his old shell toe Adidas
So I can put these babies in the fetal position
They're gettin' elbows to the penis
Yeah, big deal, I took some little kid's big wheel
And spit in his freakin' big kid's meal
Quit tryna bite me and pinch, you wince, sit still
You just put your six inch heel through my Benz windshield?
Is it dust we 'bout to kick up?
Can Yelawolf fit a fifth of rum in a big cup?
Between a stick shift in his freakin' pick up
And drink like a hick, redneck, hillbilly will 'til he gets hiccups?
Flippin' the script up like Mike Vick
Get bit in his junk by a pit, yup, I'm a sick pup
I'd be a horrible magician 'cause I'd fuck a trick up
Fix your lips up to say something fly, or zip up
A-B? Let's C
You said you're gonna do X-Y-Z
'Til you fuck around and get dropped like an E
When you add an I-N-G
Don't put a K in front of that though, when I MC
'Cause I'm not the king of this microphone booth
It's more like a phonebooth
Superman in this bitch, kryptonite won't do
It gives me more power
I bump the fat boys and eat rat poison, take meteor showers
Fresh outta the mental hospital and me not flossin' a middle finger
While I hop in a mosh pit, will be like Nas doing gospel or R&B, you crazy?
Me pushin' up daisies? That thought is impossible
As if flashin' across the news, Posdnuos was caught with a prostitute
With a huge Johnson, boobs, and a monstrous tube of lube
And a bra, some boots, some panties, in an aqua blue Mazda
Swallowing a popsicle, playin' tonsil pool
So kill the rumours, it ain't happenin', I'ma rap 'til I'm fossil fuel
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