Lirik Lagu We Outta Here - Joe Budden
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[Intro: Royce]Your left shoulderrrrr (HUT!)Your right shoulderrrrr (HUT!)[gunfire]Your left shoulderrrrr (HUT!)Your right shoulderrrrr (HUT!)[whistle blows]
[female] Slaughter
[Royce Da 5'9"]Poppa-Poppa Pistol stuck his dick in Momma Missileand created Mr. Got-to-Get-You if he opposite just splitYou niggaz bitches cranberry like a vodka mixerWhippin bitches niggaz black, ass like a cotton pickerBomb through debris - I'm holdin two pistolsin the form of a crosshair, I am armed to the TI put on for my city, I take off for whoeverthink I'm soft for my job of rappin, go back to clappinBack to illin, back to dealin, back to coc-a-inaUp the nose, that's the feelin, sky the limit, that's the ceilinAnd the women is the whores, puttin numbers up for salesIt's the score into hell, it's the feel, it's the feel
[Chorus: Royce Da 5'9" - singing with AutoTune]I can make noise when the gat blowwwww-ooooooh-ooohThe Slaughterhouse boys make the gat blowwwww-ohhhhh-oooohIt's a muh'fuckin SlaughterhouuuuuuuseWe outta here, we outta here, we outta hereIt's a muh'fuckin SlaughterhouseWe outta here, we outta here, we outta
[Joe Budden][starts off screwed] I live my life like a hood boppertouched by evil, all about bread and evilRegular people lookin like bread to eagles with the desert eagleCordially they forcin me to act accordinglyWhen according to me my thoughts disorderly just like they outta beIt's more to me in accord to meJust mad at the smoke and the mirrors, image, perceptions and the forgeryEverything is a fraud to meSo until the boys wake up, me and my boys make upBe with the toy sprayers, aimin noise makers at the noise makers (blam)Best group ever, group of whoever who do it betterBets placed on it (nigga!) number one got our face on itAnd I make a case on it, treasonEvery twelve months it's huntin seasonThey call us Slaughterhouse for a reason!
[Chorus]
[Royce] Crooked!
[Crooked I]Piano face Audemars, you haters know the timeDrug abusin fourth-grader, I mean a loaded nineHits in the stash, Ferrari Spider, the road is mineLike lap dancers and bad brakes, I'm on the grindSo tell Officer Crawford that this is (Slaughterhouse)And I left the next black president in his daughter's mouthSwallow my kids then I'm like, "Yo I gotta bounce"Ben Franklin's a math genius and every dollar countsWe takin over the game, go at you little wussies(Why?) Cause that's the sweetest joy next to gettin pussySomethin bad is emerginSlaughter's blowin up like a suicide bomber promised 70 virgins nigga
[Chorus]
[Royce] Ortiz!
[Joell Ortiz]One quarter of Slaughter reportin to you livefrom a corner where reporters stop bySince somebody playin pow-powshots fly out a glock-9 'til you cooked like a potpieTake a look at everybody in my crewbet you can't find a member of the squad that is not flyAnybody say they can see us they either lyinor not wearin they glasses, apparently cock-eyedWe don't shit, we ca-caWe don't spit, we emit lavaGot a grip on these hip-hoppers like a big lobsterEverybody know the deal when the hear the kid YOWWA!Goo-goo, ga-ga, baby cryin 'bout the internetThey get on the site but they showed me and Joe the other nighttakin flights then lightin up a cigaretteMotherfucker we ill, not one insect step short of the best thingEverything we touch make they head swing and, y'all ain't really interestinThrow a shot, and our fans do the interceptinYou got the crowd fooled but I ain't really into wrestlin (into wrestlin)
[Chorus]
[female] Slaughter
[Royce Da 5'9"]Poppa-Poppa Pistol stuck his dick in Momma Missileand created Mr. Got-to-Get-You if he opposite just splitYou niggaz bitches cranberry like a vodka mixerWhippin bitches niggaz black, ass like a cotton pickerBomb through debris - I'm holdin two pistolsin the form of a crosshair, I am armed to the TI put on for my city, I take off for whoeverthink I'm soft for my job of rappin, go back to clappinBack to illin, back to dealin, back to coc-a-inaUp the nose, that's the feelin, sky the limit, that's the ceilinAnd the women is the whores, puttin numbers up for salesIt's the score into hell, it's the feel, it's the feel
[Chorus: Royce Da 5'9" - singing with AutoTune]I can make noise when the gat blowwwww-ooooooh-ooohThe Slaughterhouse boys make the gat blowwwww-ohhhhh-oooohIt's a muh'fuckin SlaughterhouuuuuuuseWe outta here, we outta here, we outta hereIt's a muh'fuckin SlaughterhouseWe outta here, we outta here, we outta
[Joe Budden][starts off screwed] I live my life like a hood boppertouched by evil, all about bread and evilRegular people lookin like bread to eagles with the desert eagleCordially they forcin me to act accordinglyWhen according to me my thoughts disorderly just like they outta beIt's more to me in accord to meJust mad at the smoke and the mirrors, image, perceptions and the forgeryEverything is a fraud to meSo until the boys wake up, me and my boys make upBe with the toy sprayers, aimin noise makers at the noise makers (blam)Best group ever, group of whoever who do it betterBets placed on it (nigga!) number one got our face on itAnd I make a case on it, treasonEvery twelve months it's huntin seasonThey call us Slaughterhouse for a reason!
[Chorus]
[Royce] Crooked!
[Crooked I]Piano face Audemars, you haters know the timeDrug abusin fourth-grader, I mean a loaded nineHits in the stash, Ferrari Spider, the road is mineLike lap dancers and bad brakes, I'm on the grindSo tell Officer Crawford that this is (Slaughterhouse)And I left the next black president in his daughter's mouthSwallow my kids then I'm like, "Yo I gotta bounce"Ben Franklin's a math genius and every dollar countsWe takin over the game, go at you little wussies(Why?) Cause that's the sweetest joy next to gettin pussySomethin bad is emerginSlaughter's blowin up like a suicide bomber promised 70 virgins nigga
[Chorus]
[Royce] Ortiz!
[Joell Ortiz]One quarter of Slaughter reportin to you livefrom a corner where reporters stop bySince somebody playin pow-powshots fly out a glock-9 'til you cooked like a potpieTake a look at everybody in my crewbet you can't find a member of the squad that is not flyAnybody say they can see us they either lyinor not wearin they glasses, apparently cock-eyedWe don't shit, we ca-caWe don't spit, we emit lavaGot a grip on these hip-hoppers like a big lobsterEverybody know the deal when the hear the kid YOWWA!Goo-goo, ga-ga, baby cryin 'bout the internetThey get on the site but they showed me and Joe the other nighttakin flights then lightin up a cigaretteMotherfucker we ill, not one insect step short of the best thingEverything we touch make they head swing and, y'all ain't really interestinThrow a shot, and our fans do the interceptinYou got the crowd fooled but I ain't really into wrestlin (into wrestlin)
[Chorus]
