Ya Talkin'

[Intro: Joe Budden]

Slaughterhouse

Drama

It's "On the House"

Some niggas talk that real shit

Others exude it

Some niggas get real braggadocious with it

Others just go where they go

Where they go, it go, y'knaw'mean?

You only acknowledge that shit if its dead, nigga

I ain't got enough to say about it

But Royce does

[Verse 1: Royce da 5'9"]

These niggas acting like I reached my prime

They keep yapping, let me speak my mind

While y'all keep talking, I try to stay calm

Thinking how can you let a few negative comments make you perspire by your armpits

When you got your idol right by your arm, shit

And you're only surrounded by monsters

Getting haunted just for celebrating what I've accomplished

And ya chick still

Got my dick in the back of her mind right around by her tonsils

For those who try to rush greatness, today is your bedtime

Before I spew wack hooks and dead lines, I will do fed time

And give me time to rap over your deadline

If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen

Fuck it, I've been bubbling from thugging and rapping

Capturing, publishing, traveling through the underground quietly under their noses like Tubman and Chaplin

You new school shooters, you're nothing, I'm from the old school like Mullin and Paxson

You bugged out 'til you're bugging assassin

I'm dead accurate, run into me, I'm a lead accident

Pardon my Bergdorf threads if I don’t appear passionate

They hear that last shit and think that I’m here for fashion

Just to take off my glasses and hat, and that shirt

Screaming "Fuck the whole goddamn Earth"

I'm bear backing it

I'd rather listen to the sound of spitting 13 shells

Than to hear clowns talking first week sales

They don’t know what they’re talking 'bout

Riders inside the slaughterhouse, the liars decided to walk it out

'Long as we're real, we know that the fake won't employ us

We believe in fate, though the fake won’t destroy us

And Muddy Waters, as long as Satan’s tongue is avoided

We don’t give a fuck if Pitchfork don’t support us

They say that Paul and Marshall finally restored order

Why they're rolling over a dollar looking for change, now I'm here, and I'm providing their four quarters

Courtesy of my boy, Porter

As I’m submerged in this coy sporter

Probably riding around with a bird in boy shorts swerving in a Panamera four door Porsche

Pressing the pedal to the metal 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 nagging-est

Bitch ever, tell her she’s the queen and I will never leave

And that's my life, hate it or love it, I'm like

When reality and likeness strikes at the same damn time

Cause I came from above it, meaning this game

If you’re discussing meaningless change

Then fuck you, this discussion just ain’t in the budget

Me and insane completely the same

My brain just retains genius thangs

Even thought my memory sucks, all I remember to do is get fucked

Get sucked and just bang my enemies up

Something 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 paying my dues

By paying for shoes and trucks for my cuz, that’s what I do

I'd rather count cash than to do math

All I need to know is if you're losing you're on 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 chasing, that’s mines and you’re in it

And I ain't gotta say who win it

The only time I slow down is when and where

I turn 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

Get burnt up by the other side like Pookie

You’ll end up another actor that died because he lied

And now he resides inside of an urn from trying to earn trust

I earn cause I don’t trust nothing but my gun

And my gut, this is how I’m cut

Rich enough to cut one of you little bitty biting ass niggas

Then you’ll be rich from just getting a little bitty bit of my cut

My bitch fly, bruh

I’m hovering over you while I’m fucking over you

I’m holding her thighs up

Tell your homies and friends that I’m fucking the friendly skies up

Don’t think since kid Vish driving while I’m nodding out ignorant

That I ain’t riding around and I’m getting it

Like 2 Chainz, in order for one of you lames to hit me

You gotta find me and bomb me like I’m Saddam Hussein

I can just keep doing it