Artist: Slaughterhouse & DJ Drama
Album:  On the House
Song:   Truth or Truth Pt. 1
Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com 

[Intro: DJ Drama] + (Royce)
(Yeah) And like that... we gone!
(Yeah) Slaughterhouse (Nickel)
"Welcome to Our House" help nights
(Turn the beat up a lil' Asar)
This one, it's "On the House" (yeah)
They still call me Thanks for short (yeah)
YOU'RE WELCOME!

[Royce Da 5'9"]
I'm stressed out so much I'm like, "Why stress it?"
Am I selfish, for askin myself
"Would, you rather count money or count blessings?"
Now that's a wild question
Fame turned my life upside-down
I guess it was meant to be like passin Beyoncé a Tic-Tac
And that ain't a diss, this way more to me than a diss track
... Jay-Z is God to me!
... Nas is God to me!
Eminem is like Big and 'Pac to me
And if you disagree I hope you BLEED hypocrisy!
And this'll be the realest shit I ever wrote
Shoutout to all the crazy bitches I've been involved with
Thank y'all for makin my wife a crazier bitch than y'all bitches
Y'all might've lost me but y'all win
And this'll be the realest shit I ever wrote
Now let's talk about the BET Awards when Kanye went to the podium for the win
and mentioned everyone in the same category as him but me and Em
He said they motivated him
And normally that would be ammo to hate on him
But that ain't my M.O.! My M.O. is to be mo' motivatin
This new-wave culture is so cultivatin
Where the fuck do I fit in?
And this'll be the realest shit I ever wrote
I've succumb so much to this game I feel sorrow
I answer more questions about the 40 and Game squabble
than I answer questions that I ask myself
"Are you a good father?"
The answer's "Well, fuck this! Royce got a game tomorrow"
I ain't gotta spell out the offers
If bein famous means speakin to people in offices
over bein there for your sons and daughters
... I'm off this
I know the last couple of lines kinda fell out of the pocket
But I don't give a fuck! Let me tell you this
When was the last time you cop some shit where it actually came out of your pocket?

Answer that!
If I gotta answer questions from you
You gotta answer questions from me!
I'm fuckin my whole life up for YOU?
Answer this question
"What the fuck are you doin for ME?"
Answer that!
Still I love my fans
Even though you all lookin me like I'm just this drunk nigga
that's just throwin up behind shit, blowin up
But nigga I ain't throwin up shit but my hands
And this is just me growin up
Courtney Artesia, Kino and Vish
Please support me I need ya
But in reality an artist is supposed to be supported by easels
But in the meanwhile, I'm just supported by evil

[Joe Budden]
Uhh, okay, seem
Nah nah, bring that back up, bring that back up
Don't fade me out on this one, I need the organs on this
I need the organs for this "Truth or Truth" real quick
What up Royce? You inspire me
And I picked truth for the record

I mean, uh, I'm no longer fuckin amused
I mean I addressed this shit on "Cut You Loose"
How long am I supposed to stick around for this fuckin abuse?
E'ry time I go to leave, I figure fuck is the use?
I endure it for the true fans that covered that new
Or is that just another fuckin excuse?
Do I do it for attention cause I crave it? I won't mention it, I'll save it
If you know me then you know a nigga treasure anonymity
Nigga thought that as a man, you must be kiddin me
And I'm startin to feel like my fans are now condemnin me
Listen, I don't owe y'all shit
Same Joe I am today is the same Joe y'all get
Y'all will interrupt a nigga while he at his place of worship
and think that came along with your $20 purchase
You bought the music, not the nigga that made it
But let me touch up on that nigga that made it
If you're judgin me on actions then I'll take that L every time
if you conclude Joe Budden is a corny muh'fucker
Cause all it mean if I'm a corny muh'fucker
is the greatest rapper ever's just a corny muh'fucker!
My bad, I'm not as street as you
But all this time I was bein me, not bein you
I get behind that mic, let all my demons through
without knowin SHIT about the people that I'm speakin to
Add that to me not seein a reason to
And that says a lot in a room full of silence, listen
At 21 I had a drug problem
At 31 still drugs is a problem
But the thing about that pill
is it made e'rything real and I felt I needed to see
Funny thing about it all, I ain't like what I saw
Now the Lord's voice is in my head like "You'll be DEAD soon for questionin me"
Another lesson for me
Far greater than whatever I profess it to be
Cause if left to me, I'd put our eyes in our brains
We'd over-think what we see and our whole lives would change
But fuck it, that day had to come
Who ever knew that I would have a son?
I coulda guessed it, I was fuckin like a rabbit
But I never saw him handle scoliosis like his dad did
Never knew me and Ronnie would talk again
Fuck a rhyme, I'm just happy that we talk again
Who knew that the second I acknowledged you
You would get terminally ill, be in the hospital
The thought of you leavin is what fucks with me
I'm scared to death of gettin full custody
Nigga I look in the mirror disgustingly
So how am I supposed to feel the day that he looks up to me?
I always said you were the worst baby-mother
I had ex-girl confused with baby-mother
And there lies my problem with our creator
All the times I wanted her black ass dead, you wouldn't take her
Don't do it now, I need her
Understand, it don't get no realer
See how I go to bed with thoughts of a damn killer
But rather show y'all my girl through these Instagram filters
Look at her, don't look at me
Cause if y'all judgin y'all would throw the book at me
Speakin of shorty, nah I'll do that in private
It might be a little soon for me to let her know how I get
Shit, and now we right back at one
Real quick, let me get back to my son

When a nigga was like
He said "Dad I'm weird, but I don’t have a problem with that"
And I was like haha, I laughed and I was like
"Well #1, why do you think you're weird?
And #2, why don't you have a problem with that?"
And he looked me in my eyes and he was like
"Well I say I'm weird #1 because I know I'm weird
And I don't have a problem with it cause that's me
and whoever don't like it they don't really have to be around me
I'm comfortable with me and who I am"
And right there, that was cold
In my head I thought that was bold
Illest shit about it all said that at 10 years-old
So I could die right now
I could die right now and feel like he got the most important part of Joe
Or, better than that
I could die right now and feel like he know all he need to know
Joey...
Royce what up
Last night we cried tears of joy
This morning they were still there
Was handicap without the wheelchair
That's what we are, but fuck it
We'll be the sacrificial lamb for y'all niggaz
Hate it or love it
Leave all of that B, fuck it

[Crooked I]
Yeah man, I kinda feel where my nigga was coming from
You know, both my niggaz
You know, baby moms was on WorldStar and shit
Y'know, talk about I don't take care of my junior
Heh, me and my nigga's straight though
Yo, yo my little nigga rap
I just let it be you know, cause people get their feelings hurt over other shit so
I just let it go you know, I ain't have no rebuttal
But uhh... when you grew up fucked up
Nobody's perfect y'know? But I'm perfect for this
This rap shit man, heh, yeah

Eastside Long Beach, Atlantic Avenue and Hill
Crooked was a youngster, my ghetto attitude was real
Thumper in the waist case I had to shoot to kill
Rocking dumb mics cause I had was stupid skill
Eastsiders we cypherin about a bus bitch
Some sippin toca vodka, others had the blunt pitched
A lot of them niggaz died, sweatshirt blood drenched
Others went to jail, they hit a lick and left thumbprints
Long Beach, I salute your grind
Even though you think you I sold out you not salutin mine
I don't come around much, I'm on music's time
Lost and found, I found when I'm broke I lose my mind
So I hustle like, I'm on a hunger strike
Without a doubt when I cuff a mic
I leave a body count like the shotty's out
Cause I'm from a group called Slaughter-rap-better-than-everybody-House
Now they think I'm in the game and stuntin
But I'm like an orgasm man I +came+ from +nuttin+
Some of you from the 'burbs, but you claim you wasn't
So lame you struttin, with a cane you frontin
Fuck all that, if I was born rich I would rhyme about it
I was born poor in a ditch, I'm rhymin tryna climb up out it
Tryna avoud a life of crime I'm 'bout it
Some say I'll be fine without it but I kinda doubt it
Death around the corner, prison breathin down my neck
Chasin paper 'til a nigga wheezin out of breath
IRS wanna fuck me, I ain't even outta debt
Said they Young Buck me, tryna squeeze me outta checks
Yeah, them fools tryna squeeze me outta checks
Don't talk to Dominick unless you pay ya momma's rent
With marijuana sent outta town them dollars spent
My own fam wanna grab the steel and harm me
But I got the nuts to kill an army
Word to Killarmy, man all them killers adore me
BET red carpet, the steel was on me
To put a slug in my flesh and blood wouldn't feel good
Serena Crip-walking at the Olympics, I'm still hood
Still me, 'til my candle is blown
So many secrets I only told to a glass of Patrón
Half of my father's family died off cancer alone
He called me sick, I didn't answer the phone
How does it feel to know that your son doesn't care?
Cause you wasn't there, life wasn't fair
I look at steps in the wrong direction, another stair/stare
Yeah motherfucker yeah

I swear, just the other motherfuckin night dawg
Like niggaz, niggaz rolled in front of my studio on my kid's life, knahmean?
I ran through the fuckin studio to my office, grabbed that .357 thang man
Came out wavin, I'm bout to bust, the police pass by
My lil' brothers told me I needed to chill, knahmean?
This is what I do man, this is this is the life I live for real dawg
This ain't no motherfuckin rap music
Just the other night I coulda killed a nigga man, knahmean?
I wouldn't be here rappin about this shit
Think about it man...

[Joell Ortiz]
Uhh, my grandmoms left me, father don't exist
Baby moms stress me, my momma got a cyst
My oldest son love football 
and the little nigga hands is mean
But he chronic asthmatic so he fully suited on the sidelines
wishin he could be in there but still cheerin for his team
My youngest son got nervous usually
Sometimes he cry to me
I'm lookin at him like it's not yo' fault
You was conceived when daddy was such a slave to his every day anxiety
I worked at UPS for a week
And my boss ain't have to fire me
I wasn't fit to lift boxes, I quit, so don't put me in that box when I spit
My life wasn't too motherfuckin fly for me
Wasn't too muh'fuckin fly for me
From the lobby huffin and puffin runnin from robbery
To Crooked I, Royce Da 5'9?, Joe Budden
Homie from the Goodie Mob and me carvin artistry
Celebratin escapin poverty, ashy knees and no socks
Chinese outta hocks
But that was on the first, other than that liver works
and the government sent me my yellow cheese in box
Y'all ain't have that yellow cheese in a box
Last night I cried tears of joy
But the other night I cried tears, my boy
no longer here, I can't hear his voice
I guess upstairs they playin dealer's choice
Popped a pill with Joe, I'm sippin Clear with Royce
Crook, light a cigar nigga!
My little homie just hit the pen
Went in a younger dodi, came out a senior citizen
And them crackers just denied me
Fuck dawg! I can't even sneak a visit in
I ain't hustlin no more if y'all listenin

Y'all niggaz only get the music man
Y'all don't know what be goin on with a nigga day to day
I mean shit I ain't complainin or nothin
like a nigga stand on his own two and hold it down
But it's realer than you think nigga

You think I give a fuck about a rap list?
I just left my condo, hopped up in my car, I'm on my way to fuck an actress
I don't need y'all to remind me 'bout my pen and pad gift
and how my ad-libs subtract your wack spit
Multiply my visits to chase, divide mad chips
among four other niggaz who spaz quick!
Nah nigga, this ain't no rap clique
This is a motherfuckin takeover
I want another Range Rover
I got such a hangover celebratin the fact my mother become sober
My uncle fadin from that needle though
Found out he fully blown a couple weeks ago
My aunt tested negative but it's the same result
cause she gon' die on the same day that he stop breathin yo
To know me ain't to love me
Nah, to know me is to know me
Cause you ain't got to like me but respect that I ain't phony
Not a nominee for Tony’s or +Oscars+ for +Mayer+ baloney
What you see is what you get
Hope you gettin what you see cause what you seein is a threat
Come at me with indirects
I ain't gon' write a song about you, I'ma knee you in your neck
And write a song about how I just beat you half to death

Don't play with me lil' niggaz
I'm just a grown ass man tryna feed my family through this talent God gave me
I honestly don't care if you hate me
But don't, fuck, with my money
Anything else I say will be dry snitchin on myself and how dumb would that be
House Gang! YAOWA!

[Outro: DJ Drama]
Seein that you niggaz are still here
You better buy that motherfuckin album