Ya Talkin’Royce da 5'9"

[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