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Artist: Slaughterhouse & DJ Drama f/ Freeway
Album:  On the House
Song:   Sucka MC's
Typed by: 

[Intro: DJ Drama]
Sometimes you gotta wonder
Maybe it's the competitive nature of the game
The story kills 'em

This is the way the story goes, when you in it for the dough
And you swingin for the fence, close friends'll turn to foes
Act just like hoes, want you to get the dinner for 'em
Niggaz tryin to slow, walk me but I been up on 'em
Partly cause part of me got love for 'em
But a part of me got a slug for 'em
It's hard for me, he was there from the start of me
Shared gear, see part of me still cares
But part of me feels, he 'bout to try to come to my house to slaughter me
Wait 'til I hit the balcony then Dr. Martin me
This heart full of larceny, they think I'm the dollar tree
Since I'm the nigga with the WEIGHT, and they AIN'T
They're like P90X tryin to make me lose calories
State Prop' chain gang maintain salary
Freezer send his goons through hourly, devouring
It's just the Philly in me
Word to Joey Crack, +Jealous Ones En-vy+, sucka MC's
Fuck haters, get cheese

[Chorus: Freeway]
{"I can see my friends, turn green with envy"}
J-J-J-Jealous Ones En-vy, sucka MC's
Fuck haters, get cheese
{"I can see my friends, turn green with envy"}
J-J-J-Jealous Ones En-vy, sucka MC's

[Royce Da 5'9"]
I said with friends like these who needs enemies?
Inside this evil industry where the green breeds greed, envy and schemes
of, bein easy, dreams of seein me up under guillotines
But the Desert Eagle I'm bringin with me can be its wings
It's supposed to be 'bout respect
Your boys'll watch you spend some of your dough and then they'll count the rest
and bounce before you can bounce a check
He not jealous, he just wants you to split
whatever you get with him
And all that he sees is all that you bought and it sticks with him
The snake in the grass from the Garden of Eden, it bit him
The first recorded sin for 4 to 10 to 25 to life
I can quote stories of lead from off the top of my head like I don't write
Drunk and high on life, I learned to back up my own hype
When I had to steal back my own bike
Pastor's on me like "pass the collection plates" of white on rice
God fearin, my only flaw's my giving heart
It's not conducive to being frugal and living smart
Maybe I'll die dumb
Leavin behind a beautiful corpse known for my hand on my balls like Cy Young
Eyes numb from constantly stayin open
And constantly bein haunted by promises they broken
We supposed to get money


[Crooked I]
The bottom of a vodka bottle describes my drink behavior
You're far from biblical scriptures if you're thinkin a drink can save ya
What happens when your semen donor leaves the streets to raise ya?
You raise your heat, ready to go HAM like Lincoln Abra'
Ay bruh, I know this stripper
who was talkin to this nigga, who was talkin while he tipped her
'Bout the pitch in his zippers, he be flippin to get them chippers
He told her about his stash, slip of the tongue off the liquor
Yeah I used to dick her, now I call her my play sister
Yeah, we can trust her, we can bust in on that buster while he's with her
With a ski mask, gloves and snubs doin it like a crook should
Slapped the bitch up a couple of times to make it look good
He said, "Damn Crooked, you frozen cold"
When I'm broke, these are the types of thoughts that overload my dome
When I'm alone I done dirt that I never ever even told a soul
But my soul knows, Ortiz I need to slow my roll

[Joell Ortiz]
(Yaowa) You lil' suckers, muh'fucker
I'll put a verse from every one of you dud busters and Fuddruckers
Y'all swingin but goin nowhere, mud putters
Walking 'round all sour you little bud puffers
I'm done dudda, shottas, poppa
I let the gun stutter, clap that booty, niggaz I'll gun-butt ya
One mother, no father, no sisters, no brother
Couple cousins, why bother? I'm one of one plus uhh
Who gives a fuck about the next man, my jet land
Your face all blue, orange, you mad like a Mets fan
I'm Brooklyn, like the Atlantic Ave, Nets and
I run with +wildcats+ like the next season's Jet plans
Feel the fire like Rex man
You make one half of Smith & Wesson sign to Russell, man your Tec jam
This is rusty, ain't been popped in forever
My Glock sever your top, better not diddy-bop through my block in your lever