Artist: Slaughterhouse & DJ Drama
Album:  On the House
Song:   Ya Talkin
Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com 

[DJ Drama]
Slaughterhouse, Dram'
It's "On the House"

[Intro: Joe Budden]
Some niggaz talk that real shit, others exude it
Some niggaz get real braggadocious with it
Others they just go where they go
Where they go it go, ya mean?
Y'all don't even acknowledge that shit, it's just dead nigga
I ain't got much to say about it
But Royce does

[Royce Da 5'9"] + (Joe Budden)
These niggaz actin like I've reached my prime
They keep yappin, let me speak my mind (talk to 'em!)
When y'all keep talkin I try to stay calm
Thinkin how could you let a few negative comments make you perspire by your armpits (OH!)
When you got your idle right by your arm shit
and you're only surrounded by monsters
Gettin haunted just for celebratin what I've accomplished (Em what up)
And your chick's still got my dick in the back of her mind right around by her tonsils (OH!)
For those who try to rush greatness, today is your bedtime
Before I spew wack hooks and dead lines
I would do fair time
and give me time to rap over your deadlines (uhh)
If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen (talk to 'em)
Fuck it, I've been bubblin from thuggin and rappin (talk to 'em!)
Capturin, publishin, travellin 
through the underground quietly under they noses like Tubman and Chaplin
You new school shooters you're nothin, I'm from the old school like mullin and packs
and you bugged out, 'til you bug an assassin
I'm dead accurate, run into me, I'm a led accident
Pardon my birddog threads if I don't appear passionate (keep goin)
They hear that last shit and think that I'm here for fashion (keep goin!)
'til I take off my glasses and hat, and that shirt (Nickel!)
Screamin "Fuck the whole goddamn earth"
I'm bare-backin it, I'd rather listen to the sound spittin 13 shells (OH!)
'til they hear clowns talkin first week's sale
They don't know what they talkin 'bout
The writers inside the Slaughterhouse, the liars decided to walk it out (House Gang)
Long as we real we know that the fake won't employ us
We believe in fate though the fate won't destroy us
In muddy waters, long as Satan's tongue is avoided (yeah)
We don't give a fuck if Pitchfork don't support us
They say that Paul and Marshall finally restored order
while they rollin over a dollar lookin for change
Now I'm here and I'm providin they four quarters
Courtesy of my boy Porter, as I'm submerged in this coy sporter (ohh)
Probably ridin around with a bird in boy shorts
Swervin in a Panamera four-door Porsche (damn!)
Pressin the pedal to the medal to let it breathe
I fuck her and tell her we can never be and she should let it be
Drop her off wherever and drive home to the naggingest bitch ever
Tell her she the queen, and I would never leave (never)
And that's my life, hate it or love it I'm like
when reality and lightning strikes at the same damn time
Cause I came from above it, meanin this game
If you discussin meaningless change then fuck you with discussion
This ain't in the budget
Me and insane are completely the same
My brains just retains genius things
Even though my memory sucks, all I remember to do is get fucked
You suck, and just bang my enemies up
Somethin like that, I can't remember, dang
I came from pennies to up, from Denny's to dinner with Puff
Like fuck Denny's, I'm famous, I'm payin my dues by payin for shoes (damn it!)
in trucks for my cuz, that's what I do (OH!)
Huh, I'd rather count cash than do math
All I need to know is if you're losin you in the negative and winning's a plus
I'm the general of the tick-tick team which means your 15 minutes is up
I'm sprinting and yeah that dust
You're chasin us minds and you in it and I ain't gotta say who win it
The only time I slowed down is when and where I turned around 
and said "Eat my dust," after I finish my cup
You rap new jacks who rap, you can do like Pookie from New Jack
and go to the other side after you finish my dust (DAMN!)
Get burnt up by the other side like Pookie
You'll end up another actor that died because he lied (uhh)
Now it resides inside of an urn for tryna earn trust
I earned cause I don't trust nothin but my gun and my gut
This is how I'm cut
Rich enough to cut one of you little bittie bitin ass niggaz in
You'll be rich from just gettin the little bittie bit, of my cut
My bitch fly bruh
I'm hovin over you while I'm fuckin over you, I'm holdin her thighs up
Tell your homies and friends that I'm fuckin the friendly skies up
Don't thinks this kid fish drivin while I'm noddin out ig'nant (that's it)
that I ain't ridin 'round and I'm gettin it (that's it)
Like 2 Chainz, in order for one of you lames (stop it)
to hit me you gotta find me and bomb me like I'm Saddam Hussein

[Outro: Joe Budden]
You never listen (I can just keep doin it)
No, don't, we got it
Thanks