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[Joell Ortiz]
H-E, L-L-O / I’m one hell of a show/
I’m the best you stuck in the middle like L-M-N-O/
I’ll piss on you like every toxic element go/
All you pussies is fucked/
Call me “Not Celibate Joe(ll)”/
Hey Slaughterhouse, Let’s go rock Ed Sullivan’s Show/
I literally can’t front, I’m back like never before/
I’ma rap my letter to hoes/
Dear Prostitute, I miss ya’ll and let me slap my head on your nose/
Where the fuck is my guitar?/
It couldn’t of went far/
Oh yea, I smashed it on homie head in that Brooklyn bar/
Me, I’m somewhere in between a crook and a star/
Had some more bars, but I left my rap book in the car/

[Crooked I]
Spazz out, knock a nigga ass out/
Knew he had a paper thin chin and a glass mouth/
West Coast Shit, Seven-Deuce glass house/
Got a Lil' Fame so me and my Posse Mash Out (Oohh)/
I aint got a college degree/
Just a Circle of Bosses/
The Slaughter's in me/
Pardon me G/
I just wanna fuck your daughter and flee/
And leave all that married shit in the back ground like I'm Father MC (Haha)/
Cocky but don't be a copy cat/
When you see me rocking that/
LA Kings hockey hat/
I'm the king of LA/
Do you copy that?/
Time for some change like Obama in a Laundromat/

[Royce Da 5’9”]
Do ya’ll want problems with us? I guess not/
Broadcasting live from a Pyrex Pot/
The streets know that we nice, try your best shot/
Speech coated in ice, dialect’s hot/
Everybody (C’mon)/
Get Cool, these some big shoes/
Gun talking repetitive, call it Chip-Fu/
You aint never heard of me, mami? You excused/
I don’t only diss dudes/
You sleeping on us? That’s what it is!/
Just understand that I aint getting no winter sleep ‘til you looking at the back of your lids/
I’m a lyrical ounce of piff!!!/
Still counting those chips/
For real mami, Slaughterhouse in this (Biiiiiitttchhh)/

[Joe Budden]
Look, I’m not a gang banger/
More like, game changer/
With taped anger/
Alias “Lover Name Changer”/
Liable to pop at kids and aim flamers/
I’m why your parents told you not to entertain strangers/
Dough, get it/
Top Notch, flow sickest/
Best out, don’t blame me, it’s no spitters/
So vicious, on the road to riches/
From now on, call me Mr. “Why is they chasing all of your old bitches?”/
From the hood to Jersey and I can claim this/
Oxymoron, ride with the dirtiest stainless/
Cock back, high sadity so I keep the top back/
So when the streets is watching, I could watch back

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