Artist: Slaughterhouse Album: House Rules Song: I Ain't Bullshittin Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com {"You are now listening to araabMUZIK"} [Chorus: Royce Da 5'9"] I ain't made it this far fuckin 'round with stankin ass bitches See I ain't made it this far slippin So I ain't 'bout to start right now Said I ain't 'bout to start right now, I ain't bullshittin I ain't make this much money doin bad business Or listenin to stupid ass, goofy ass niggaz So I ain't 'bout to start right now Said I ain't 'bout to start right now, I ain't bullshittin [Royce Da 5'9"] Never hesitate to up-and-touch your foes jaw Bullet-proof vest on fuckin hoes raw Only fear I have is bein a has-been Only thing I care about is just who has been laughin Dig a hole, make a box for as soon as this craft ends Or just put my ass in rehab with Charlie Sheen, three tabs and some gin For you to get maddened in We gon' sniff enough blow in here to kill +Two and a Half Men+ Niggaz think I came off fast in this game laughin at lames with a map of an immaculate passageway to spectacular fame That's how they do you every time, they think you're fake, you ain't the truest Until you make the papers then they sue ya That's when I tell your bitch to "Do it for this Vine" She ain't gon' never say to me she "ain't gon' do it" Toast along journeys, I ride separate Only problem that I have with the big motherfucker's a wide stretcher and long gurney, then you're gon' see a murder case deflate when my attorneys apply pressure [Joell Ortiz] And pressure bust pipes, but I'll betcha this pipe gon' bust a motherfucker head if ever I catch up Wild disrespecter, behind the scenes after playin the sidelines dressed up in thug attire when they soft as a signal when that Wi-Fi messed up This a hot spot Yeah right, hater play hopscotch or hot twat I'm hot! [Chorus] [Crooked I] Why in the fuck would I listen to haters knowin damn well they done fucked with my paper? 'Til I die-ie-ie I only listen to Crooked I-I-I I ain't bullshittin, I keep it raw, niggaz rhymes deluded Prostitutin for the label, nigga your mind's polluted Go 'head, try and dispute it They buildin an army full of niggaz willin to sell they soul and they asshole, that's the kind recruited A sucker born every second time's computed Just grab a nine and shoot it! (AHH!) Hyper-feminine rapper claim your troops Let you lynch me in the orchard before I hang with fruit Unless they of Islam, I'm just sayin the truth Rather hear me rappin about bitches givin brain in a coupe I know, but I'm iller G, like make it some a trilogy Not three movies, I mean somethin that Pimp C would say, a triller-G And I'm sicker than mixin liquor with Henny-cillin I'm chillin in my coupe with no roof and I could see the moon shinin, like whiskey in Tennessee No Jordan, but a brick or ki' is 23! I'm the biggest thug of 'em all with the street poetry I leave blood on the wall so the streets know it's me (Crooked!) Crooked I, last rapper that won't compromise Real nigga, they probably want me ostracized (fuck 'em!) I'm the nigga you can't colonize, not for dollar signs I don't care if my profit rise, long as I prophesize Long as I'm the non-fiction documentary and you the nigga that dramatized No need to apologize Put your sorries in your big pocket Make up a dance to have a chance nigga, I'd rather Big 'Pac it (Talk to 'em!) I'd rather Pun L it I'd rather Beans Jay it, I'd rather Em Nas it Uhh, I don't listen to you goofy niggaz take on it That's why the Beemer got the temporary plates on it (yeah nigga!) That's why XXL got your nigga's face on it It's '97 Bad Boy, this my Ma$e moment (amen)