Artist: Slaughterhouse Album: House Rules Song: Life in the City Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com [Chorus] "Life in the city is not very pretty" "It seems such a waste of your tiiiiime" [Joell - over Chorus] Nah... man Tell you boy {"Heatmakerz"} Just don't know! {"Crack music"} [Joell Ortiz] Trojans cause the LifeStyles bust faster No Fonto, no Backwoods, just Dutch Master Fifth of Henn' and a radio on Funkmaster I don't come from a wack hood where the ducks factor Ten speed in a black hood, that's a gun clapper We chop fair ones 'til somebody drop from lung asthma Before this I lived a lifestyle like fuck rappers A buck trapper up after dark with the cut cracker Tucked up under the tongue, who want a buck half of That's a smiley face on your cheek, stitch 'em up laughter I snuffed son cause he walked through with a rough hatter Came in the store and stepped on my Timbs and made 'em scuff faster These niggaz ain't 'bout that life, bunch of young actors Play the right part when you see me, say "What up scrapper?" See y'all ain't got to like me but you will respect me E'ry time you say you the nicest, boy you indirect me Jesus Christ, I'm a crisis, you a sip of Pepsi Little buds, little suds at the tip of a Nestlé I toot my own horn, I'm Dizzy Gillespie And I reps my city correctly (YAOWA) [Chorus] [Joell Ortiz] One-two, my project gritty, extra far from pretty Staircase sloppy pissy and the lobby tipsy And I keep a Barbie with me lookin good My niggaz can't leave the country, I bring the country to the hood (let's go!) My real name my rap shit, I ain't make-believe (Joell) Same nigga who got this break'll still break your knees (uh-huh) I'm still playin Cee-Lo and the bank is cheese Eight G's I fold better, feel that Vegas breeze? Product of the gutter, no father, just a mother Know you runnin but run farther when you hear me say "Word to my mother" (Word to my mother!) Your boy is extra thorough, ask my borough When I'm in Brooklyn they go nuts, you little squirrels can't buy a referral These niggaz won't cause they can't so they don't copy (nope!) Bitches with they best friend be yellin "Go papi!" (yeah) Y'all niggaz got these freshmen feelin so cocky But it's just a bunch of yes-men, and a no-body (ha ha!) Just cause you write rhymes don't mean you rhyme right You a light-high, don't jump and become a highlight Lose sight of your hind legs and live in hindsight Cause you niggaz aight, but y'all ain't quite like (YAOWA) [Chorus]