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Artist: Slaughterhouse
Album:  Welcome To: Our House
Song:   Hammer Dance
Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com 

{"You are now listening to araabMUZIK"}

[Crooked I] SLAUGHTERHOUSE!

[Joell Ortiz]
Joell Ortiz - my real name my rap shit
No made-up nigga; I'm straight up nigga
Still in the projects where I came up nigga
On a scaffold doin ten sets of ten gettin my weight up nigga~!
I'm no shooter but my shooters'll have your brain exposed
But I'll shoot five in a SECOND homie and break your nose
Talk had passed, I'm dead ass
I was livin life fast with my pistol in the grass
Diggin in my ass tryin to finish up the last
so I can sit it in the stash, Olde E sweat drippin from the bags
Milk crates sittin on the ave
while I'm lookin left to right for them niggaz with the badge
My moms dishes really had crack on 'em
12 twelves and I kept them shits packed for 'em
Yeah they came back for 'em
I could paint it so vivid cause I really lived it
If rap fail I'll stack bail and show you how to get it!

[Chorus: Royce Da 5'9"]
I'm in the club, bottle in hand doin my two-step
While I got my gun in my pants, call it the - Hammer Dance
Uhh, bitches dancin on a nigga
When they feel the gun, I tell 'em we doin the - Hammer Dance
Uhh; two-steppin with my weapon on me
You good? I'm just checkin homie
Uhh; fam-a-lam, you don't stand a chance
While I got this gun in my pants doin my +Hammer+ dance

[Crooked I]
In these L.A. times I wake up on one
House slippers and coffee, I know the paper gon' come
I drop shit to make the gangstas go dumb
Keep a bad bitch naked like my waist with no gun
Uhh (I'm f'real, how are you?)
Got street power, from the watchtowers to Howard U.
How would you become me? I don't do what you cowards do
Flip a thousand pounds of that sour dies' in an hour dude
I'm out my muh'fuckin mind
Fuck a punchline, salute my muh'fuckin grind
Ditchin Feds on the regular, they tryin +To Catch a Predator+
Not the Chris Hanson type but the Danny Glover kind
I'm a killer, everybody know I'll body yo' audio
When the shottie blow say goodbye to yo' barrio, you maricón!
You don't think that I'm about this?
Ice grill nigga, put your money where your MOUTH is!

[Chorus]

[Joe Budden]
(Uhh) Joey - my real name my rap shit
Fuck with Chase but the real bank is the mattress
Money ain't new to me, been gettin G stacks
Since Smoove B took his shorty back from rehab
Knife work with me but the chrome is extra
Case I'm in the same taxi as +The Bone Collector+
Uhh, y'all rappin 'bout models, I get hounded by 'em
Not a killer at all, I'm just surrounded by 'em
Just a real nigga, straight from my mother's stomach
Ain't enough cloth for all of us to be cut from it
Not decided by who toast lead
Cause all of us will be +Angels+ for Pujols bread
Lot of hostility, hollerin is killin me
Screamin over my dead body like it's not a possibility
On my Jers' bullshit, never mind me
But if it's ever problems niggaz know where to find me

[Chorus]

{"You are now listening to araabMUZIK"}

[Crooked I] SLAUGHTERHOUSE!