Slaughterhouse, Sex, Love, Vices - Who I Am lyrics

House gang, house gang you know how we ride
In that SL playing SLV
(On the house, get 'em)
Talk that talk to 'em

Guess who back turning the
Track into mince meat
For diabetics with diarrhea
Thinking shit's sweet a thug MC
Even though I'm all about money
I found time to throw it
Away with Swizz Beatz
House gang, hardest fools 'round
Don Juans up, garden tools down
Black Rolls Royce riding up that coast
Niggas left me for dead
I came back in that hGost the resurrection
Can't spell sex without the letter X
So this is a letter to every ex I'm sexing
I get the best oral, no question
Pectoral shit, we out shear flexing
Yeah, that's the slaughterhouse team
Looking down on ballas as if were
As tall as Yao Ming
Fly is what we are without wings
Like scientists studying the environment
We're all about green

I fuck any girl I want
Valet keep my car in front
They told me I wouldn't go far
From a nobody to a star
Is that what you take of me?
You do it mistakenly
I'm still here, amazingly
Every day I thank God for making me who I am

These raps from a smoker's lung
Climb the ladder to success
Skip the broken rungs see em now
(you) 'd never guess he was your token bum
Mailbox full of subpoenas, I might open one
Guess the cops didn’t learn that
These warrants don’t faze him
Living my mind, how can bars ever cage them
Give me a break, I'm a "Law Abiding Citizen"
That'll kill a cellmate if enough is at stake
Some say that I'm mean
Nah, they got it fucked up i
Just say what I mean
It was never 'bout money
I was chasing a dream
Now I'm proof that rage can beat the machine
I take being the sickest way
Over being the richest
If you focused on me, I ain't doing half bad
Right hand in the air, Joe, I solemnly swear
The joke is on me, but I got the last laugh

My real name my rap shit
No bed-frame just a mattress
Trying to light the stove looking
For a book of matches
Listening to Hov instrumentals getting
Practice flicking 'dro ashes
In a zip lock from an old package
Niggas better be lucky that I'm so passive
I'mma blow past it like a coke habit
You afraid of me
The Euphrates river flow massive
I sit a Raider fitted over Bo Jackson's
Jeans horseshoe under the horse polo relaxing
With a horse shotgun in the
Porsche letting the horses brag
You'll be going hoarse trying to call a cab
I'm everywhere with the New Yorker swag
Got me at cancer and Massachusetts
I'll be throwing in the Boston crab
Here's a toast to the street
When you eat you food down to "bone"
Appétit so don't turn your cheek
My real name my rap shit
The messiah of real rap shit nod your head
Make a face like you sitting on the toilet
And it's real hard to crap shit
Yeah I make that shit
For the gang clappers on a sober night
Who open soda to the right you know
Switch your cap backwards
I wrote a track with a
TEC in my jeans Jansport
So who the fuck said I don't
Do this for the backpackers
One hit of my piff and you cough
I got pot, top notch at minimum cost
Do me a favor: take your
Little nicks and get lost
The only time you get a P
Is when I'm pissing you off
My name ringing the borough
Everybody'll tell you the same thing
I'm thorough
And I can still chill in the field
Where they kill 'cause I'm real
Never ran, never will