Testo Sound Off - Slaughterhouse
Testo della canzone Sound Off (Slaughterhouse), tratta dall'album Slaughterhouse
You herbs we merged, we're an alliance
We fight fire with flame-throwers, why would you try us?
We a outfit, equivalent to Voltron's
That boy Crooked I's equivalent to four arms
Joell Ortiz is the body
The cannibal slash killer, kill you then eat your body
Joe Budden is the pair of legs
He runs shit alongside I, the apparent head
I am the general, bow now
Fuck salutin, I don't really think y'all niggas get it
Run up on you with an army it is
On 'til it's done, finished
You got a problem with any one of my Slaughters
Then y'all niggas can come wit it
Me and Joey we a perfect fit
He likes startin shit, I like endin shit
I don't squash the beef, I don't bend a bit, it ain't intricate
I'm gon' shoot yo' stupid ass
You too could laugh, you gon' die smilin
Try whylin I get hostile then I'm violent
I don't make threats nigga I promise
My style is Stalin mixed with sick lyrics
If you hear it it'll lift your spirit
Turn your appearance to a disappearance, d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d (ding)
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but my clique
Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I put my, money on my clique
Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth
I got a raw flow, and I stay hungry more so
Guess that's why I'm the torso
I pour sweat when I perform shows
What I record goes down as the best but the vets won't let that torch go
Y'all could keep it, they got flashlights now
And flame-throwers, and I got one on my back right now
Remain focused, is what I tell myself now and then
Don't wanna go back to that block like where Varejao defends
Uh-oh (uh-oh) my stomach growls again, I ain't none of you cowards friends
Every human out of my sight, before I count to ten
One two three four five six seven eight
I'm hungry like I never ate
Set a table up with knives forks and spoons, I'm 'bout to get a plate
All these weak dummies lookin at me like a pepper steak
Me and these dudes never separate, we ain't married
Yeah but every time I touch a pen I sorta set a date
I'll devastate your career, look I'mma demonstrate
Let me get a good breath I take before I regulate
{*inhales*} Okay (okay) bye-bye you guys, don't try to rhyme
Cause line for line what I design is mine and mines, point is I'm divine
And I'm right behind the big guy that shines
All the light in mine so my eyes can find a nice dime to grind
C'mere girl, toma toma, take that take that
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but my clique
Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I put my, money on my clique
Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth
You rappers chasin popularity by any means doin silly things
Buyin too many size 20 skinny jeans
The West treat me like I'm really king
I'm Pacquiao in the Philippines, illest thing them niggas seen
You rappers dressin like you finna sing "Billie Jean"
I gotta intervene, fuck you I'mma intervene
You loud talkin wouldn't kill a thing
Matter of fact, where's your head nigga? I got the guillotine
Fuck yo' Hollywood limousine and rented bling
I give you three red dots and I call it a triple beam
I'll put your pad on your property fag
Properly rob you and hop in the Jag
If you stoppin the profit the Glock'll be poppin
Your body'll rock a colostomy bag
Shot in the abs, moms'll be sad
Pops'll be mad, doctor be glad
Possibly stoppin a plasma droppin
Clock runnin out and the outcome bad
Any one of you niggas that's fuckin with my team
Pretty-ass thing with the infra-red beam
Sleep on that and get killed while you dream
Fuck a rap group, Slaughterhouse a machine
Slaughterhouse a regime
I'm gooned up if you know what I mean
Everybody wanna be down with the king
No-no-no-no-no fly zone (no fly zone)
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but my clique
Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I put my, money on my clique
Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth
My one goal's to astonish
Tell the president, V.P. (you could) notify the congress
They say I'm arrogant, pompous but I'm honest
I tell 'em keep an accomplice away from the accomplished
They still makin threats on your highness
But I tell 'em where I be, they just ignore the compass
I think all your mans' Play-Doh
I don't buy that movie "Fandango"
Fans they know that what, you a soldier to a general, baby steel
Got it in the bag, airtight, Navy SEAL
Tell lil' dudes I ain't mad at y'all
College kids like Asher Roth
Y'all just trying to put food on the table
And I'mma just come and try snatch it off
If it ain't from me, most young dudes will be angrily
But anxiously awaitin bankruptcy
Wonder what makes lil' muh'fuckers think they're the same as me
I'm synchronized, you and your mens'll die
Learn certain shit you ain't meant to try
Got the ground covered with some niggas in disguise
Best bet's to attempt to fly
Shit's a gang, you down you in for life
Fuck y'all I ain't gotta generalize
Y'all ain't able to write what the pen describes
So when he asked what I meant and why I tell him
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but my clique
Nothin but hot shit follow me, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I fuck with, nothin but gangstas
Nothin but hustler niggas, sound off, sound off (HUT!)
I put my, money on my clique
Hot shit, comin outta the barrel of my fifth
Credits
Writer(s): Joseph Anthony Budden, Joell Ortiz, Dominick Wickliffe, Nicholas M. Warwar, Ryan Daniel Montgomery
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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