Slaughterhouse - Who I Am Lyrics
[Featuring: SLV][Intro]House gang, house gang (x2)You know how we rideIn that SL playing SLV(On the house, get 'em)Talk that talk to 'em[Verse 1: Crooked I]Guess who back turning the track into mince meatFor diabetics with diarrhea thinking shit's sweetA thug MCEven though I'm all about money, I found time to throw it away with Swizz BeatzHouse gang, hardest fools 'roundDon Juans up, garden tools downBlack Rolls Royce riding up that coastNiggas left me for dead, I came back in that ghostThe resurrectionCan't spell sex without the letter X, so this is a letter to every ex I'm sexingI get the best oral, no questionPectoral shit, we out shear flexingYeah, that's the slaughterhouse teamLooking down on ballas as if were as tall as Yao MingFly is what we are without wingsLike scientists studying the environment, we're all about green[Hook: SLV]I ***** any girl I wantValet keep my car in frontThey thought I wouldn't get farFrom a nobody to a starWhat's there to take from meYou do it mistakenlyI'm still here, amazinglyEvery day I thank God for making me who I am[Verse 2: Joe Budden]These raps from a smoker's lungClimb the ladder to success get the broken rungsSee em now never guessed it was token bungMailbox full of subpoenas, I might open oneGuess the cops didn’t learn that these warrants don’t faze himLiving my mind, how can bars ever cage themGive me a break, I'm a "Law Abiding Citizen"I'mma kill a cellmate if enough is at stakeSome say that I'm meanNah, they got it *****ed up. I just say what I meanIt was never bout money, I was chasing a dreamNow I'm proof that rage can beat the machineI take being the sickest way over being the richestIf you focused on me, I ain't doing half badRight hand in the air, Joe, I solemnly swearThe joke is on me, I still got the last laugh[Hook][Verse 3: Joell Ortiz]My real name my rap shitNo bed-frame just a mattressTrying to light the stove looking for a book of matchesListening to Hov instrumentals getting practice flicking dro ashesIn a zip lock from an old packageNiggas better be lucky that I'm so passiveI'mma blow past it like a coke habitYou afraid of me, the Euphrates river flow massiveI sit a Raider fitted over Bo Jackson'sJeans horseshoe under the horse polo relaxingWith a horse shotgun on the porch letting the horses bragYou'll be going horse trying to call a cabI'm everywhere with the New Yorker swagGot me at cancer and Massachusetts, I'll be throwing in the Boston crabHere's a toast to the streetWhen you eat you food down to "bone" appétit so don't turn your cheekMy real name my rap shitThe messiah of real rap shitNod your head, make a face like you sitting on the toilet and it's real hard to crap shitYeah I make that shitFor the gang clappers on a sober nightWho open soda to the right you knowSwitch your cap backwardsI wrote a track with a TEC in my jeans JansportSo who the ***** said I don't do this for the backpackersOne hit of my piff and you coughI got pot, top notch at minimum costDo me a favor: take your little nicks and get lostThe only time you get a P is when I'm pissing you offMy name ringing the boroughEverybody'll tell you the same thing, I'm thoroughAnd I can still chill in the field where they kill cause I'm realNever ran, never will[Hook]
