SLAUGHTERHOUSE - Illmind Interlude lyrics

rate me

If you can't stand the heat, better creep out the kitchen

This music so therapeutic it could be our religion

If I am my own problem, then I am my own solution

We building a glass house so you can see how we living

Hold up, turn the beat down and listen

I was predicted to be convicted, catching them beat downs in prison

By prison guards ‘cause fuck authority figures, minority niggas be living hard

Tell me how to see out your vision when you limit ours

You're only want to see in the struggle but I got

Bands in my duffel, bands, bands in my duffel

Yeah, you can ask the slaughters, I don't mess with you rappers

Matter of fact our third album is a message to rappers

My nigga, we let you breathe

Now all of them accolades from ratchet bitches and faggots in this rapping business is over

It's back to the business of gangsta rapping that I'm mixing with this backpack, spitting

With a Rat Pack clique of niggas, you best believe

You pussy period, I bet you bleed

A fake nigga that listen to snakes nigga, I bet you Eve

Meanwhile I'm on my Django with my field niggas

Twelve years a slave, this industry tryna kill niggas

Even if they noose me, I die hanging with some real niggas

And all my nephews are in my will like Uncle Phil, nigga

I'm really cocky, but that's on the low like Makavelli's intro

When it sounded like somebody said, "Suge shot me"

I shot the shit with the niggas that shot shit up

Welcome to my hood, papi

Where every night’s a movie but never a good copy

I sat on granny couch, amped about what I'm rambling ‘bout

When the amp blew out I made beats with my hands and mouth

The man of the house so early

Little idle with the curly

Blow out, running behind the girlies

My nigga Jiggs nicknamed me Idle Boy, I do miss him so dearly

Just Blaze, I just blaze one up

Boy, I'm headed up to mobile Monday, I hope you 45's ain't dirty

Don't need them bitches skipping

I know I'm skipping around but fuck it

‘Cause I could still bust it with random thoughts, you gotta love it

Hey Crook, you my brother

Royce, you my brother

Joe, you my brother

4 different fathers, 4 different mothers

But raised by the culture

You bet we were hanging the same poster

Staring at Lil Kim with her legs open

Rewinding the Nas verse, blasting some Hov

Dancing to Biggie, tripping off Canibus flow

Don't act like Cano wasn't a savage, you know

But back then my squad, everyone rapping is pro

Yeah, Marshall Mathers my bro, hey, Catfish it's a go

The magic of 2.0, just getting started

I'm confused ‘cause this healthy mindset made our album retarded

I'm just playing with words, yeah, they pay me for that

The stages of rap, ask these promoters, these places is packed

Just killing time till that album drop

Slow it down, I dissed you

I said its killing time when that album drop