Crooked I, Slaughterhouse - Woodstock Hood Hop lyrics
[Crooked I, Slaughterhouse - Woodstock Hood Hop lyrics]
H-E- (what?) l-L-O, i’m one hell of a show
I’m the best
You stuck in the middle like l-m-n-o
I’ll piss on you, let every toxic elements go
All you pussies is fucked
Call me now celibate Joe (ay)
Ay Slaughterhouse
Let’s go rock Ed Sullivan Show
I literally can’t front
I’m back like never befo’ (oh)
I’ma rap my letter to hoes dear prostitute
I miss y’all lettin’ me slap
My head on your nose
Where the fuck is my guitar?
It couldn’t of went far oh yeah
I smashed it on homie head
In that Brook-lyn bar
Man I’m somewhere in between a
Crook and a star
Had some more bars but I left
My rap book in the car
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)
Spazz out, knock a nigga ass out
Knew he had a paper thin
Chin and a glass mouth
West Coast Shit, Seven-Deuce glass house
Got a Lil' Fame so me and my Posse Mash Out
I ain't got a college degree
Just a Circle of Bosses
The Slaughter's in me, pardon me G
I just wanna fuck your daughter and flee
And leave all that married shit in
The background like I'm Father MC
Cocky but don't be a copy cat
When you see me rocking that
LA Kings hockey hat
I'm the king of LA, Do you copy that?
Time for some change like
Obama in a Laundromat
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)
Do yall want problems with us? I guess not
Broadcasting live from a Pyrex Pot
The streets know that we nice
Try your best shot
Speech coated in ice, dialects hot
Everybody (Cmon) , get cool, these some big shoes
Gun talking repetitive, call it Chip-Fu
You ain't never heard of me
Mami? You excused i don't only diss dudes
You sleeping on us? Thats what it is
Just understand that I ain't getting
No winter sleep til
You looking at the back of your lids
Im a lyrical ounce of piff
Still counting those chips
For real mami, Slaughterhouse in this (Bitch)
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)
Look, I’m not a gang banger
More like game changer
With tamed anger, alias lover name changer
Liable to pop at kids and aim flamers
I’m why your parents told you
Not to entertain strangers
Dope get it, top notch, flow sickest
Best out, don’t blame me it’s no spitters
So vicious on the road to riches
From now on call me Mr weiss
They chasin all of your old bitches
From the hood new jersey and I claim this
Oxymoron, rob with the dirtiest stainless
Cock back
High saddity so I keep the top back
So when the streets is watchin
I could watch back
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)
I’m the best
You stuck in the middle like l-m-n-o
I’ll piss on you, let every toxic elements go
All you pussies is fucked
Call me now celibate Joe (ay)
Ay Slaughterhouse
Let’s go rock Ed Sullivan Show
I literally can’t front
I’m back like never befo’ (oh)
I’ma rap my letter to hoes dear prostitute
I miss y’all lettin’ me slap
My head on your nose
Where the fuck is my guitar?
It couldn’t of went far oh yeah
I smashed it on homie head
In that Brook-lyn bar
Man I’m somewhere in between a
Crook and a star
Had some more bars but I left
My rap book in the car
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)
Spazz out, knock a nigga ass out
Knew he had a paper thin
Chin and a glass mouth
West Coast Shit, Seven-Deuce glass house
Got a Lil' Fame so me and my Posse Mash Out
I ain't got a college degree
Just a Circle of Bosses
The Slaughter's in me, pardon me G
I just wanna fuck your daughter and flee
And leave all that married shit in
The background like I'm Father MC
Cocky but don't be a copy cat
When you see me rocking that
LA Kings hockey hat
I'm the king of LA, Do you copy that?
Time for some change like
Obama in a Laundromat
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)
Do yall want problems with us? I guess not
Broadcasting live from a Pyrex Pot
The streets know that we nice
Try your best shot
Speech coated in ice, dialects hot
Everybody (Cmon) , get cool, these some big shoes
Gun talking repetitive, call it Chip-Fu
You ain't never heard of me
Mami? You excused i don't only diss dudes
You sleeping on us? Thats what it is
Just understand that I ain't getting
No winter sleep til
You looking at the back of your lids
Im a lyrical ounce of piff
Still counting those chips
For real mami, Slaughterhouse in this (Bitch)
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)
Look, I’m not a gang banger
More like game changer
With tamed anger, alias lover name changer
Liable to pop at kids and aim flamers
I’m why your parents told you
Not to entertain strangers
Dope get it, top notch, flow sickest
Best out, don’t blame me it’s no spitters
So vicious on the road to riches
From now on call me Mr weiss
They chasin all of your old bitches
From the hood new jersey and I claim this
Oxymoron, rob with the dirtiest stainless
Cock back
High saddity so I keep the top back
So when the streets is watchin
I could watch back
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop
Hands up if you fuckin with it
We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon) Jersey (c'mon)
Long Beach (c'mon) Detroit (c'mon)