SLAUGHTERHOUSE - Woodstock (Hood Hop) lyrics

rate me

Hahaha... they think they rid ourselves

We definitely got to give the drummer somethin (c'mon!)

Slaughterhouse (c'mon!) M.O.P. (c'mon!)

Everybody (c'mon!)

H-E- (what?) 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, let every toxic elements go

All you pussies is fucked, call me now celibate Joe (ay!)

Ay Slaughterhouse, let's go rock "Ed Sullivan Show"

I literally can't front, I'm back like never befo' (oh!)

I'ma rap my letter to hoes

Dear prostitute, I miss y'all lettin me

slap my head on your nose

Where the fuck is my guitar? It couldn't of went far

Oh yeah, I smashed it on homie head in that Brook-lyn bar

Man I'm somewhere in between a crook and a star

Had some more bars but I left my rap book

in the car (yo yo yo yo yo)

Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop!

Hands up if you fuckin with it

We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)

Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)

Geah, spaz 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) (ohh!)

I ain't got a college degree

Just the 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

background like I'm Father MC

Ha ha, cocky, but don't be a copycat

When you see me rockin that, L.A. Kings hockey hat

I'm the king of L.A., do you copy that?

it's time for some change like Obama in a laundry-mat

Do y'all want problems with us? I guess not

Broadcastin live from a Pyrex pot

The steeets know that we nice, try your best shot

Speech coded in ice, dialect's hot

Everybody (c'mon) get cool

Beef in big shoes, gun talkin repetitive call it Chip-Fu

You ain't never heard of me mami you excused

I don't only diss dudes

You sleepin on us, that's what it is - just understand

that I ain't gettin a wink of sleep 'til you

lookin at the back of your lids

I'm a lyrical ounce of PIFF

Still countin them chips, for real mami,

Slaughterhouse in this ("BITCH!")

Look, I'm not a gang-banger, more like game changer

with tamed anger, alias lover name changer

Liable to pop at kids and aim flamers

I'm why your parents told you not to entertain strangers

Dope 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. Weiss, they

chasin all of your old bitches

From the hood New Jersey and I claim this

Oxymoron, rob with the dirty and stainless

Cock back, high saddity so I keep the top back

So when the streets is watchin, I could watch back