[Verse 2: Royce da 5'9] Uhh, my clique shottas, you ain't fuckin' with this roster My chick a knockout, head to toe like a kick-boxer Don't get boxed up, your chick got her lips cocked up I pulled my dick outta my boxers and Chris Bosh'd her Uh, now that my AK's out in the open I put his mind on vacay, I rerouted his focus Yeah, now that the ace spade bottle is open I'm tryna ménage with J.K. Rowling and Oprah I'm a soldier, uh, I'm not polite my G I got lighters, I don't care about your life I don't need to run the streets, I don't need yo plot They don't call me Royce for nothin' my baby I got the white I'll put you on the asphalt, you try to rip my cash off Rip ya face off and season it with bath salts I know my way around here like if I designed a compass When my girl come around here I feel like I jumped inside of a trumpet I got it locked like I laid my vocal booths in the vault Especially when it's dark I get desolate with thoughts I'm gettin' green like Brian Pumper under water With his whole jewel collection on, wrestlin' the Hulk Talkin' bout they bust a heater But when I see 'em, they be more like Justin Bieber I be with flussers, skeezers, diva.. (Joell, you're supposed to help me out man!)
[Verse 4: Crooked I (Interrupts Joell Ortiz)] You dudes actin' like Hugh Jackman You dudes lickin' the boot straps of these new rappers that never knew snappin' Move back with ya cute rappin' while you yappin' I'm V.I.P. with the loot stackin', ya boo crackin' I'm probably too ghetto for rap dudes I'm probably in BET's bathroom, nursin' my stab wounds I probably just murdered the back room You rappers probably act goon, probably pussy as cat womb All of you villains in french braids, pretendin' you concealing them switch blades Quit man Crooked put life insurance on the beat, then I kill it to get paid Yeah, I listen to you ignorant niggas spittin' It's like I feel my IQ slippin' 'til I'm still in the fifth grade Do me a fave, swallow a grizznade Yeah, homie follow the Slizz Nang (?) I salute ya if you follow the Slaughterous Gizzang Why would I fear for? When a cypher I'm the kind of guy that'll watch ya die behind a 99 cent store I’m fine with my bench warrants, I ride with my wrench Arrive in my in-store, I drive my six-four Hop out, yell out, Welcome To Our House Bitch, house slippers on, that chopper under my outfit Until the day y'all allow Mitt Romney to make freedom of speech illegal, I'mma spit wild shit You rap crazy lame, I stack daily mane It's that Shady gang, the fat lady sang That means it's over for all of y'all The way that we the new Juice Crew, Eminem should stand for Marley Marl, SLAUGHTERHOUSE
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Genius Annotation1 contributor
This BET back room freestyle was one amongst many others (Macklemore, Cassidy, Cory Gunz, Mac Miller to name a few). This was released around late July of 2012, right before Slaughterhouse was set to release it’s second studio album, Welcome to: Our House (executive produced by none other than Eminem himself). Many of the references from these emcees refer to the album’s release date (August 28, or 8/28) and references to the dominant force that is Shady Records. These four wordsmiths don’t rap with a definitive concept, but rather flex their lyrical dexterity and wits.
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