Slaughterhouse - Sun Doobie lyrics

You get more for your money
When you fuck with Mr porter-r-r-r-r"

As long as I got my pen I don't need a friend
We got ears that we each'll lend each other
My brother just hollered at me again
He said he tired of all the lyin
Deceivin and
Dick-ridin the people providin on
Every beat but when i do it it's stupid
I bruise it like a bad bitch i lose it
My music's a movement and they just mad stiff
I told 'em it's mathematical in this pad lift
Point 'em out and I will subtract him
With an ad lib
See the fact is (what) I'm a bastard
How can I not be Macho, Man? I'm a Savage
In the past I was passive, now I'm mad bitch
I'm spazzin
You get an Adidas classic where yo' ass is

Eh eh, eh eh, Nickel ain't the one at all
Snatch your vocal chords out then
Plug 'em in my wall
You a knife at a gun fight, our shit is raw
You a square
You're silverware in a civil war
The Slaughterhouse wolf pack
Riders under the moon
The reason you itchin wit'cha
Lighter under your spoon
I'm a lover, the lead bustin is old to me
You put your head in her butt
I headbutt the ovaries
God dipped me in war paint for all weathers
I'm Mr spill the liquor on my alcohol tether
No need to ride with nobody
I feel the heat can help me
Your jean's skinnier than Em is
When he eatin healthy, hahaha

Whoa, whoa, whoa wHOA, WHOA, WHOA, Shaaady!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa "Mr porter-r-r-r-r"

Outnumbered, outspoken, outcasted
Outweighed outrageous odds and outlasted
Outlandish, so I learned to outwit 'em
I outsmart 'em, outgrew 'em, I outdid 'em
Cream, out-bid 'em, team can't out-spit him
(You could) Keep sleepin
Your wet dream is out with him
(See) Do a lil' yoga, a lil' kama sutra
Steakhouse nigga, used to be a Ramen Noodler
Heavy on B and E's, was a calm intruder
Pumped a Ruger, moms called me con and loser
I suggest you and your mans'll regroup (why?)
Bet against it
And probably can't recoup - out!

I point a pistol at your mamma mia
I'm sick as Tyson in the ring
At the Colosseum with gonorrhea
Fuck a rapper, my clapper black as Bahamadia
Fuck you R&B bitches
Shut up! You not Aaliyah
(Ha ha) When Mr porter record a piano
Producers may wanna order some ammo
I'm a California corner reporter
Your boy wasn't born with a quarter
Bein' poor was a horror
And now my aura is sorta Soprano look here
We reinvent the wheel to have a
Good year - and y'all tired
We like Tyler Perry mixed with Everlast
The House of Payne
Pain, Slaughterhouse gang nigga!

Whoa, whoa, whoa wHOA, WHOA, WHOA, Shaaady!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa