Crooked I - Slaughter Session lyrics

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Crooked I - Slaughter Session lyrics

[Verse 1: Royce da 5'9'] If any one of you players in here oppose me I'll tear your season apart like D. Rose's knee Call me the original gangster - O.G I'll split your head to the white meat - poultry That's why my legacy starts where your era begins I've taken over this franchise like Jeremy Lin Y'all n***as buyin' your own albums, you pay to sell Who dares to compare an Alpha to a Beta male? You lames ain't as hot as me, look the other direction I'll turn your brain to cottage cheese like some bu*t injections Baby, that navel piercing just ain't gon' work If your f**in' stomach lookin' like some balled-up homework I'm the flyest n***a flyin' here, Ryan yeah, pioneer Try me here, you're dying here I am where the guided... where the iron, where? It's only just, me and Tony Touch Sippin' Patron out a styrofoamy cups [Verse 2: Crooked I] Fifty emcees, how many fans can Tony touch? Special hoes call us testicles, they know we nuts I'm the opposite of horny s*uts - I don't give a f** When it come to shootin', I'm Kobe clutch Put 'em on mute when they know the boss is speakin' Our album's comin' out before it's supposed to That's how I leave 'em leakin' p**y, you tampon - I'm in San Juan With some Puerto Ricans that'll merk you in church And ignore the deacon I'm the god of the West Coast A lot of n***as rappin' over there, I'm the best, though House Gang matching in escrow, n***a, my neck glow Like ODin' on coke, you'll get the d**h blow I run these emcees like Master J Don't get it backwards like Paul Revere Rest in peace MCA AKs, semis and clips, I'm from Long Beach Eastside, the city of Crips, cous' [Verse 3: Joell Ortiz] You are now tuned in... Man, I hope you've been tuned into the most influential Beat-ruining human being on fluid Puerto Rican speakin', check me out with the yaowa movement I'm Mr. Everybody's Favorite Line Mr. Unofficial Remixer - hop on there and make it mine Mr. Stage Ripper, send that grip and ain't a place and time Mr. Never Front On The Hood - no Mercedes sign Mr. No Missus, just dope b**hes takin' fine licks of mine From-behind stick it 'til they taste the slime I'm so gangster, prissy chicks don't wanna f** with me ...like I care, if it's weave in your hair, I've got trees and a beer Meet me in the stairs But be careful, cause last time you got pee on your gear I'll never change cause I touch cake f** crushed grapes Give me Dutch papes and a Touch tape, f**-face