[Intro crooked I (kay young)]

You're nothin without (focus)

Woo.. long beach (lay your seats back)

New jersey (turn your speakers up)

Brook-lyn! detroit!

[Chorus kay young]

We-we, we lyrical murrrrrrrrrrrderers

Welcome to the slaughterhouse

(What you talkin 'bout?)

Where we bring them verbal llamas out, bloaw

We-we, we lyrical murrrrrrrrrrrderers

Man, we own these streets

And the freaks they love us

We ain't worried 'bout you fuckers (slaughterhouse)

[Crooked i]

Lyrical murderer, blame rakim

I'm a sniper shootin my way into your lame top 10

Pistol at your head if I ain't next to eminem

Then I bust in your face like I'm fuckin lil' kim

Niggaz better pray to the lyrical lord

That I fall off like the umbilical cord before I fill up the morgue

This is how a killer record

With the double-edged triple syllable sword, I'm iller than all

Dineri, see I'm a literary genius

Bury niggaz with words, a cemetery linguist

Most rappers are comedy gold

They like they boyfriend's sodomy hole - they full of shit!

[Royce da 5'9"]

Now you could walk through the shadow of death next to that shady street

Where the verbal cocaine business and 80's meet

Where them niggaz is backwards

I'm ridin with my daughter in the front with the a.k. in the baby seat

We them copycat killers, unleashin venom

Commit them lyrical murders and then we re-commit 'em

Lyrics be high quality

Bitches be givin me brain, my dick be deep in they heads like psychology

Independently pennin the best words that were ever said

The mixture of leatherhead and everclear

You can't hide, we everywhere

Now, picture a grizzly standin next to a teddy bear

[Chorus]

[Joe budden]

Yeah

Hello hip-hop, I am here, you dyin yeah and I'm aware

A beast so at your wake I'll cry lion's tears

And that's no disrespect to the pioneers

If we ain't who you tryin to hear

Somethin either wrong with your eyes and ears

I came in this game screamin jers'

Ain't an mc in our lane to try and merge

Try and run with our wave

But I'm cool with bein eddie levert seein my son on stage

Gun gon' blaze, act up in this joint

And I'ma be nate robinson and back up the point

Your run's over, run with us or get run over

I'm here to save this shit, and I brung soldiers

[Joell ortiz]

This is lyrical murder

Me and every track have a physical merger

When I stab it in the chest I'ma bit of a curver

So it bleeds to death, like the middle of a unfinished burger

Or sometimes I wrap my hand around his throat

Cause he think his kick is slick or his little snare is dope

Shoot the bass in the face but sometimes I carry a rope

To hang the piano keys when they hittin every note

I'm what no beat's able to withstand

If you suffer from writer's block and your label got big plans

Listen to this fam

Slide a little dough out that budget, and hire the instrumental hitman

[Chorus]