Onslaught 2

[Royce Da 5'9"]

(Ohh!) Yeah (let's go!)

I said once upon a time in a city that's mine

There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime

He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind

Listening to Pac and them drop with a prestigious design

My niggas is dons, my bitches is dimes

I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton

I been running shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's

Sit and watching my green grow, like I'm watering seeds

The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets

Niggas calling for peace, they can't even call the police

If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat

Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps

I get indicted after my product's released

We a different form, a different centrifugal force

Every line is like gripping on a stick shift in a Porsche

My niggas asked for direction to go on this track

I said, "fuck a direction, spaz out!"

Get 'em up high

[Female] Crooked

[Crooked I]

And for them wack songs that you made

I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade

Explode to your grave - and go straight to hell

When your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved

The role that you played, in fucking up hip-hop

You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain

Closer than the close shave of a low fucking fade

Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E

With Nickel we gon' make more cheese

Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz (what up!)

I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth

On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef

I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill

It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets

Spine on the concrete looking at the sun

Eyelids heavy, "Why did Crooked have to come?

He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully acting dumb"

Fully-automatic umm, that's Crooked having fun

Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame

And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained

Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim

And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same

But different, the West Coast king Crooked I

I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up HIGH

[Female] Joell

[Joell Ortiz]

Here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz

Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's (Slaughterhouse)

Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze

Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever

I'm like 150 degrees

16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease

A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased

Used to dream about living now I'm living my dreams

The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fucking big as I seem

When I'm spitting this mean, me and government intervene

A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans

I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything

When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene

And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am

Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane

I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first

I run radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words

I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb

When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like "Word"

City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve

Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve

A shot at the title, Spitter of the Year

E'ry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air

And hold 'em up HIGH {*echoes*}

[Female] Joey

[Joe Budden]

Work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far

Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars

And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars

And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb

See that bullet coming from around the corner

Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one?

A mistake, ain't your run-of-the-mill

I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills, for me it's fun

Your man think we evenly skilled

He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed

Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as

No good straight jacket, all I did break the latch

They say he talk tough with his fake ass

Four pounds put me in another weight class

Great Escape the pad

Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask

You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?

Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas

Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious

In your whole camp, nobody focused

They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree

You die and come BACK, won't nobody notice

Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping

Hanging out the window, like it's "227"

Get 'em up HIGH

[Fatman Scoop]

Get 'em up high, get 'em up high

Get 'em up high, get 'em up high

Get 'em up high, in the sky

Put 'em up high, put 'em up high

Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky

Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse

Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse

Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse

Put 'em high, woo! Ohh {*echoes*}