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bad meets evil - loud noises lyrics
loud noises
(feat. slaughterhouse)
[verse 1: eminem]
life handed me lemons
i jumped back into the public eye and squirted lemon juice in it
by now you just wish i’d f-cking die but i electrify
get electrocuted, executed by an executioner of my flow too quick for the human eye to detect zooming by
guess who, what’s happening guys?
they told me to sh-t, i fell off that pot
hopped right back up on that cr-pper and i
said “f-ck it” with a capital i
look who’s back to antagonize
you don’t like it? you can eat sh-t, f-ck off little f-ggot and die
you’re right back like a maggot on my d-ck grabbing at my sh-t, better get to the back of the line
you wanna get your shot at me what kinda cr-p is that
battle, what kind of rapper would i be before i let another rapper think he’s hot
i’ll bury my face in his stinky tw-t and go alalalala
girl my head sp-ce is limited, ain’t even room in the back of my mind
that’s why i ain’t thinking about you, i don’t got time and i told you a thousand times
so how can i find the time to put an alkaline battery in royce’s back and at the same time put juice in mine?
godd-mnit slaughterhouse is signed!
slaughterhouse
[verse 2: crooked i]
i’m a menace villain, my pen is sitting spilling, my lyrics killing
then i let you witness sh-t when it hit the ceiling
the n-gg-s willing to give the listeners the sickest feeling
like mixing some benadryl and penicillin
then i’m filling the clip with a written
can you picture my pistol drilling?
a million women and children when i’m illing
but it isn’t real, it’s a rap
on the real, it’s a wrap
how could you possibly stop the apocalypse
when i’m atomic bombing the populous
shock the metropolis hostile as a kid
popping the glock at his moms and his pops
then he hops in his drop with his ipod rocking the slaughterish
doc-mentation and lyrics i write with confidence
write like a columnist slash novelist
i’m in this game to demolish, establish my dominance
over prominent rappers you popping sh-t till you opposite
i can spit ominous so spit politics now i’m haile sel-ssie, gandhi, and pac of this hip hop genre, b-tch
slaughterhouse
[verse 3: royce da 5’9”]
lyrically i’m a cocaine altoid
ability told brain it’s a no brain bout boy
physically i’m literally a cocaine cowboy
wait wait, did i just go almost four bars without talking about my big d-ck?
the other day me and your thick b-tch had a great date and we ate cake
and then we walked and then she tried to jack me off but she lost
cause she couldn’t handle my shake weight, wait i sweared
irony of ryan is i am bipolar while i’m rhyming standing beside a big old white bear
neither one of us fight fair, you are literally looking at woody and wesley in a movie
with a white boy ain’t got to jump no where cause i’m here
n-gg- i’m on fire yeah and i’m every b-tch’s dream
one, two i’m coming for you, i’m a big old (big old) nightmare!
n-gg- this the slaughter stepping up
i’ll pretty much slap your -ss and tell you to shut the f-ck up
after that i’ll slap your -ss again and tell you to shut the f-ck up shutting up
and that’s how you body a f-cking beat
slaughterhouse
[verse 4: joell ortiz]
i should be the one that goes slow
get a stopwatch, clock my flow
hit the b-tton on top watch the drug drop
o o dot dot o, yaowa
when i drop i go outer sp-ce
blackout like darth vader’s face
placed in a molten shower
say something and get them proper
mama poppa pouring out vodka
mama mia, em p-ss me the scissors there’s visitors in the slaughterhouse casa
better jet boy, better jet boy g4 chrome, better jet boy mark sanchez, santanio holmes
i’m not just any old homeboy
sitting in a lab picking up a pad
i be spitting bad, i’m a get you mad with this gift i have
lord duck sufferin succatash when the trigger blast i’m a put your beak on your fitted hat
where the liquor at? sip of yak
bad b-tch and a vicious track i relididax
sly pro tools to boast joe smooth i coast to the west like we’re crooked of living at
new york here’s a piggyback ride to the motherland
hold on brotherman, on the other hand get down
i’m gutter fam, gun b-tt you with the eagle handle cunningham
i don’t wanna talk, i just wanna beef
i don’t want a piece, i want it all baby boy
i don’t wanna eat, i wanna feast stuff my cheeks with raw pieces of sh-t
you done weak, i’m the one, capiche?
slaughterhouse
[verse 5: joe budden]
insane what they call us
how you married to the game but you probably shouldn’t have came to the altar
every bar like propane for the sawed-off, using a hammer to forge you
eminem, mr. porter, slaughter my sentiment’s imminent torture
all of you feminine marauders, that’s women at war
men will -ssault you, tommy’s and bats that resemble lasorda
kidnap your trembling daughter, at least a quarter
i’m administering supporters, got an aura more like sodom and gomorrah
normally something’s wrong with me
claiming a quant-ty of the p-rn i see on the pause to me
when i fix the game they’ll think sh-t came with a warranty
how the f-ck are they gonna stop when i was born to be
corner me, sh-t belong to me, two choices, you can get along with me
or sit your f-ggot -ss right there in dormancy
wait, all you missing is heels to be rupaul
ain’t n-body that’s real ever knew y’all
second to none and i’m dealing with marshall
this time i never come down, deal with the blue b-lls
you ain’t gotta fear me but you’ll respect me
n-gg-s who never met me threaten me, want to gillete me
coming to a sword fight against a machete
swinging spaghetti like it’s heavy some said he deserve an espy
in a chevy like andretti, put the dezzy where his chest be
slaughterhouse
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