poppa-poppa pistol stuck his dick in momma missile
and created mr. got-to-get-you if he opposite just split
you niggaz bitches cranberry like a vodka mixer
whippin bitches niggaz black
bomb through debris - i'm holdin two pistols
in the form of a crosshair
think i'm soft for my job of rappin
and the women is the whores
puttin numbers up for sales
i can make noise when the gat blowwwww-ooooooh-oooh
the slaughterhouse boys make the gat blowwwww-ohhhhh-ooooh
it's a muh'fuckin slaughterhouuuuuuuse
it's a muh'fuckin slaughterhouse
i live my life like a hood bopper
regular people lookin like bread to eagles with the desert eagle
cordially they forcin me to act accordingly
when according to me my thoughts disorderly just like they outta be
it's more to me in accord to me
just mad at the smoke and the mirrors
perceptions and the forgery
everything is a fraud to me
so until the boys wake up
aimin noise makers at the noise makers
group of whoever who do it better
bets placed on it number one got our face on it
every twelve months it's huntin season
they call us slaughterhouse for a reason!
drug abusin fourth-grader
like lap dancers and bad brakes
so tell officer crawford that this is
and i left the next black president in his daughter's mouth
swallow my kids then i'm like