Crooked I - BET Back Room Freestyle lyrics

[Intro: DJ Premier] Yo wa**up y'all. This is Dj Premier, and I bring to you raw lyrics, raw sk**s, in the backroom. Slaughterhouse [Pre-Verse: Joe Budden] Eight-twenty-eight, Welcome to: Our House. Shady House Gang. We go. Check this, look... [Verse 1: Joe Budden] If the motto of the lotto is a dollar and a dream I don't play it every day it's just insomnia and cream Fools lookin' for Joe they need a tapper with a beam Don't make a bad point like Mike Conley's on your team (Bdatt, Bdatt) Writing's on the wall, know the languages Learned from Denzel, even a safe house is dangerous You watch me, I might appear like I do robberies Brain introduced co*ky, don't misconstrue the mirage, B Flip side, strangers think I'm cool probably See him throwin' pool parties, bad broads and nude bodies but My script was edited, I had a ton of change Project X now, but it started as a Hunger Game Your bars backed up, pink I'll keep strokin' But you without a release, tell me how we gon' come the same? I'm watching paraplegic's sayin' they run the game I'll be in the cut, let 'em claim what they wanna claim [Verse 2: Royce da 5'9] Uhh, my clique shottas, you ain't f**in' with this roster My chick a knockout, head to toe like a kick-boxer Don't get boxed up, your chick got her lips co*ked up I pulled my dick outta my boxers and Chris Bosh'd her Uh, now that my AK's out in the open I put his mind on vacay, I rerouted his focus Yeah, now that the ace spade bottle is open I'm tryna ménage with J.K. Rowling and Oprah I'm a soldier, uh, I'm not polite my G I got lighters, I don't care about your life I don't need to run the streets, I don't need yo plot They don't call me Royce for nothin' my baby I got the white I'll put you on the asphalt, you try to rip my cash off Rip ya face off and season it with bath salts I know my way around here like if I designed a compa** When my girl come around here I feel like I jumped inside of a trumpet I got it locked like I laid my vocal booths in the vault Especially when it's dark I get desolate with thoughts I'm gettin' green like Brian Pumper under water With his whole j**el collection on, wrestlin' the Hulk Talkin' bout they bust a heater But when I see 'em, they be more like Justin Bieber I be with flussers, skeezers, diva.. (Joell, you're supposed to help me out man!) [Verse 3: Joell Ortiz] (8/28 as well..YAOWA!) Don't act up, we in the back room, back up I want everything Green Bay, everybody pack up Your raps s**, I spit like I'm down to my last buck Mad stuff ain't in the fridge, not a packet of ketchup You that tough? You don't talk, you spark it instead? Wal-Mart next door, you put a Target to bed? You a marksman with lead? Here's a mark on my head You a Mark, all you do is argue with Ted You ain't hood, you drive past it and glance I still hood trade my cash fo' they stamps Those who ain't g-e-t G.E.D.s in cla** fashion I offer BET, EBT transactions You feel I'm too co*ky? Quit I'll pay your little cable bill so you can watch me spit Problems, I'll make your eye grow like a wildflower Cuz twitter's the only time you'll see 'em pound Yaowa I got bars for days, I'm lyin', I got bars for weeks, I'm lyin' I got bars for years, I'm lyin', I got bars for aeons Don't ever put me on the same level as these lil s**ers rhymin' And yes I'm hood when the show's over, fo sho You a 'fo I let the four fold ya Boom, pow, bam like the old Joker Put your face all over Brooklyn like a HOV poster You played in gra** dog, I played in gravel On the same roof as the enemy when he was flamin' at you We threw Snapples at the Taber-nacle I mean the Tabernacle, whatever, the place that had the prayin' statues You put me in that garden, I'da ate the apple Put a worm on a hook as a bait to catch a flamin' snapper Man I ain't tryna be a famous rapper It's just you dudes slackin' and I'm cool spazzin'.. [Verse 4: Crooked I (Interrupts Joell Ortiz)] You dudes actin' like Hugh Jackman You dudes lickin' the boot straps of these new rappers that never knew snappin' Move back with ya cute rappin' while you yappin' I'm V.I.P. with the loot stackin', ya boo crackin' I'm probably too ghetto for rap dudes I'm probably in BET's bathroom, nursin' my stab wounds I probably just murdered the back room You rappers probably act goon, probably p**y as cat womb All of you villains in french braids, pretendin' you concealing them switch blades Quit man Crooked put life insurance on the beat, then I k** it to get paid Yeah, I listen to you ignorant n***as spittin' It's like I feel my IQ slippin' 'til I'm still in the fifth grade Do me a fave, swallow a grizznade Yeah, homie follow the Slizz Nang (?) I salute ya if you follow the Slaughterous Gizzang Why would I fear for? When a cypher I'm the kind of guy that'll watch ya die behind a 99 cent store I'm fine with my bench warrants, I ride with my wrench Arrive in my in-store, I drive my six-four Hop out, yell out, Welcome To Our House b**h, house slippers on, that chopper under my outfit Until the day y'all allow Mitt Romney to make freedom of speech illegal, I'mma spit wild sh** You rap crazy lame, I stack daily mane It's that Shady gang, the fat lady sang That means it's over for all of y'all The way that we the new Juice Crew, Eminem should stand for Marley Marl, SLAUGHTERHOUSE