Slaughterhouse - Who I Am (ft. SLV) [paroles]

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Slaughterhouse - Who I Am (ft. SLV)

Paroles: Who I Am

House gang, house gang (x2)
You know how we ride
SL playing SLV
(On the house, get 'em)
Talk that talk to 'em

[Verse 1: Crooked I]
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
Dime winds up, garden tools down
Black Rolls Royce riding up that coast
Niggas left me for dead, I came back in that ghost
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

[Hook: SLV]
I fuck any girl I want
Valet keep my car in front
They thought I wouldn't get far
From a nobody to a star
What's there to take from me
You do it mistakenly
I'm still here, amazingly
Every day I thank God for making me who I am

[Verse 2: Joe Budden]
These raps from a smoker's lung
Climb the ladder to success get the broken rungs
See, I'm now never guessed it was token bung
Mailbox full of subpoenas, I might open one
I 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"
I'mma 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, I solemnly swear
The joke is on me, I still got the last laugh


[Verse 3: Joell Ortiz]
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
Inner 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 Euphrate river flow massive
I sit a Raider fitted over Bo Jackson's
Jeans horseshoe under the horse polo relaxing
With a horse shotgun on the porch letting the horses brag
You'll be going horse 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" appetit 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