Artist: Slaughterhouse Album: Slaughterhouse EP Song: Sun Doobie Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com "You get more for your money, when you fuck with Mr. Porter-r-r-r-r..." [Joell Ortiz] As long as I got my pen I don't need a friend We got ears that we each'll lend each other, my brother just hollered at me again He said he tired of all the lyin, deceivin and dick-ridin the people providin on every beat but when I do it it's stupid, I bruise it like a bad pitch I lose it, my music's a movement and they just mad stiff I told 'em it's mathematical in this pad lift Point 'em out and I will subtract him, with an ad lib (ha ha!) See the fact is (what?) I'm a bastard How can I not be +Macho, Man+? I'm a +Savage+ In the past I was passive, now I'm mad bitch I'm spazzin, you get an Adidas classic where yo' ass is [Royce Da 5'9"] Eh-eh, eh-eh, Nickel ain't the one at all Snatch your vocal chords out then plug 'em in my wall You a knife at a gun fight, our shit is raw You a square, you're silverware in a civil war The Slaughterhouse wolf pack, riders under the moon The reason you itchin wit'cha lighter under your spoon I'm a lover, the lead bustin is old to me You put your head in her butt, I headbutt the ovaries God dipped me in war paint for all weathers I'm Mr. spill the liquor on my alcohol tether No need to ride with nobody, I feel the heat can help me Your jean's skinnier than Em is when he eatin healthy, hahaha [Chorus] WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, Shaaady! WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! {"Mr. Porter-r-r-r-r..."} [Joe Budden] Outnumbered, outspoken, outcasted Outweighed outrageous odds and outlasted Outlandish, so I learned to outwit 'em I outsmart 'em, outgrew 'em, I outdid 'em Cream, out-bid 'em, team can't out-spit him (You could) Keep sleepin, your wet dream is out with him (See) Doin a lil' yoga, a lil' kama sutra Steakhouse nigga, used to be a Ramen Noodler (I was) Heavy on B and E's, was a calm intruder Pumped a Ruger, moms called me con and loser I suggest you and your mans'll regroup (why?) Bet against it, and probably can't recoup - out! [Crooked I] I point a pistol at your mamma mia I'm sick as Tyson in the ring at the Colosseum with gonorrhea Fuck a rapper, my clapper black as Bahamadia Fuck you R&B bitches, shut up! You not Aaliyah (Ha ha!) When Mr. Porter record a piano Producers may wanna order some ammo I'm a California corner reporter Your boy wasn't born with a quarter, bein poor was a horror Now my aura is sorta Soprano; look here We reinvent the wheel to have a +Good Year+ - and y'all tired We like Tyler Perry mixed with Everlast The House of Payne/Pain, Slaughterhouse gang nigga! [Chorus]