Video Sun Doobie de Slaughterhouse 2024 Lyrics Lyrics

Slaughterhouse - Sun Doobie Lyrics

"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

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 muhammadiya
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 as a whore and I'm an aura
It's 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!