DJ Butter, Royce da 5'9", D-Elite, D12 - Don't Try This at Home lyrics
[DJ Butter, Royce da 5'9", D-Elite, D12 - Don't Try This at Home lyrics]
"You Have Agreed
Not To Try This At Home anything Else"
Who am I? I'm a basterd
I stolen off ya and blast at ya
Smokin' more blacks than the part
Time wars in Africa
I'll? out the martyrs for beef
Rest in piece alot of you
Reef designing your greef
By snatchin' your brother
Smackin' your lover paralizing your cousins
Smokin' your mother's husbands
A dozen chosen showguns to shotguns
Roll up on you with no guns but still pop one
I bomb like napalm from the
Curb to your house
And "Please God" the last words out ya mouth
No affiliates, just dogs and troops
Most lyin' death than this morgue and roots
All we choose to beef, I bring spatulas
Flip it and throw it back at ya
So bring your gat with ya
Spectacular murder manufacturer
Fuck binacular only heaters talkin
I'm trappin ya just to flattin ya
Hop in the accura, roll up on the back of ya
Chill out in 5
And then them niggas act alive
I smoke branches from off the tree tops
I hang with real niggas, PA's
PK's and Pete Rock
Y'all niggas with pre-ops
Spill blood and Reeboks
Don't discriminate blastin rookies
On the ewok
Your streetforce envolves just for excitement
Like if you wasn't you
Never heard of enditement
I sum it up quick so
That you can understand me
Fuck you, your crew
Your bitch and your whole family
Bizarre's a villin, bitch I ain't illin
I'll pull your fucking head off
While your ass is winddillin'
Go heads the triggers of
The penot scott villian
Vericons march, atleast shoot a million
Dirty Dozen the first week?
At least a billion
If not, it's back to robbing and stealin'
Bizarre's the illest, the shitty is the worst
A thousand dollars for any nigga that
Can last longer than a verse
And what's the worst is I don't give a damn
Offer Garth Brooks a stolen grand am
Come to your record label, take all your doe
Take your rap name and have
Your manager booking you shows
I don't gove a fuck if we don't get along
Bitches know my name without
The Slim Shady song, bitch
We in this bitch with DJ Butter
Who gives a fuck?
We in this bitch with Wallstreet and we
Don't give a fuck about nothing
"You Have Agreed
Not To Try This At Home anything Else?"
Yeah yeah what's my motherfucking name?
Royce Nickle Nine
A messiah of all, much higher than y'all
Undeniably raw
Quick to blow the fuck up and reform again
The bomb threat re-occured, re-warn your men
I promise you get toared up and re-torn again
Not one slur or word will be re-born again
As long as the shit cracks and
They turn a loop up
I spit it until it's pitch black
And burn the roof up
Better step the fuck up for
The shit getting spit
Turns to whips getting lit
Turns to tick-tick-tick
Niggas be rapping just for the clubs
Just for the love
That hit you had in the club
Sound like shit in the truck
That's why I love that nigga X
Cause he raised my brow with every rhyme
Without having to take my style
It'll be a cold day in hell when
These two soldiers lay in hell talk to me
Billy Nix, I'm really sick of this silly shit
Rappers, get on the mic
Swearing they're really spit
But you really fake
Tough guy stop at your thirty-eight
Drop your gloves and get taped
Stop with your murder rate
Alot of kids listening to you
Wishing they you
Wishing they was in a position with
You to piss on their crew
Buttfuck all your sickness
We got the medicine
I'd rather piss on the capital
Shit on the president
X-Government, still flowing, still showing
I know where you niggas come from
Know where you niggas going
We was all raised in the same dangerous cell
Understand I ain't a stranger to hell
I just don't like it
Rappers say the same thing getting retired
So I write something I like and
Pray that you bite it
Take an old gangsta rapper
And make him retire
Take a young conscious rapper
And keep him inspired
Black man, where you at man, take a stand
They taking this rap shit like
They took our land
Fuck America that's right
You ain't hear me stutter
Wallstreet, Dirty Dozen with DJ Butter
Not To Try This At Home anything Else"
Who am I? I'm a basterd
I stolen off ya and blast at ya
Smokin' more blacks than the part
Time wars in Africa
I'll? out the martyrs for beef
Rest in piece alot of you
Reef designing your greef
By snatchin' your brother
Smackin' your lover paralizing your cousins
Smokin' your mother's husbands
A dozen chosen showguns to shotguns
Roll up on you with no guns but still pop one
I bomb like napalm from the
Curb to your house
And "Please God" the last words out ya mouth
No affiliates, just dogs and troops
Most lyin' death than this morgue and roots
All we choose to beef, I bring spatulas
Flip it and throw it back at ya
So bring your gat with ya
Spectacular murder manufacturer
Fuck binacular only heaters talkin
I'm trappin ya just to flattin ya
Hop in the accura, roll up on the back of ya
Chill out in 5
And then them niggas act alive
I smoke branches from off the tree tops
I hang with real niggas, PA's
PK's and Pete Rock
Y'all niggas with pre-ops
Spill blood and Reeboks
Don't discriminate blastin rookies
On the ewok
Your streetforce envolves just for excitement
Like if you wasn't you
Never heard of enditement
I sum it up quick so
That you can understand me
Fuck you, your crew
Your bitch and your whole family
Bizarre's a villin, bitch I ain't illin
I'll pull your fucking head off
While your ass is winddillin'
Go heads the triggers of
The penot scott villian
Vericons march, atleast shoot a million
Dirty Dozen the first week?
At least a billion
If not, it's back to robbing and stealin'
Bizarre's the illest, the shitty is the worst
A thousand dollars for any nigga that
Can last longer than a verse
And what's the worst is I don't give a damn
Offer Garth Brooks a stolen grand am
Come to your record label, take all your doe
Take your rap name and have
Your manager booking you shows
I don't gove a fuck if we don't get along
Bitches know my name without
The Slim Shady song, bitch
We in this bitch with DJ Butter
Who gives a fuck?
We in this bitch with Wallstreet and we
Don't give a fuck about nothing
"You Have Agreed
Not To Try This At Home anything Else?"
Yeah yeah what's my motherfucking name?
Royce Nickle Nine
A messiah of all, much higher than y'all
Undeniably raw
Quick to blow the fuck up and reform again
The bomb threat re-occured, re-warn your men
I promise you get toared up and re-torn again
Not one slur or word will be re-born again
As long as the shit cracks and
They turn a loop up
I spit it until it's pitch black
And burn the roof up
Better step the fuck up for
The shit getting spit
Turns to whips getting lit
Turns to tick-tick-tick
Niggas be rapping just for the clubs
Just for the love
That hit you had in the club
Sound like shit in the truck
That's why I love that nigga X
Cause he raised my brow with every rhyme
Without having to take my style
It'll be a cold day in hell when
These two soldiers lay in hell talk to me
Billy Nix, I'm really sick of this silly shit
Rappers, get on the mic
Swearing they're really spit
But you really fake
Tough guy stop at your thirty-eight
Drop your gloves and get taped
Stop with your murder rate
Alot of kids listening to you
Wishing they you
Wishing they was in a position with
You to piss on their crew
Buttfuck all your sickness
We got the medicine
I'd rather piss on the capital
Shit on the president
X-Government, still flowing, still showing
I know where you niggas come from
Know where you niggas going
We was all raised in the same dangerous cell
Understand I ain't a stranger to hell
I just don't like it
Rappers say the same thing getting retired
So I write something I like and
Pray that you bite it
Take an old gangsta rapper
And make him retire
Take a young conscious rapper
And keep him inspired
Black man, where you at man, take a stand
They taking this rap shit like
They took our land
Fuck America that's right
You ain't hear me stutter
Wallstreet, Dirty Dozen with DJ Butter