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Artist: Slaughterhouse
Album:  House Rules
Song:   House Rules
Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com 

[Intro: Joell Ortiz]
Hold up hold up
Let-let me start it y'all, haha!

[Joell Ortiz]
Yeah, yeah niggaz the Gang's back again (WOO!)
Royce givin his beard a scratch again
Crooked lit a Cuban, Joe actin like he tweetin but he do that once the track begin
I'm just nibblin on this plastic pen (Slaughter!)
This soundin like the beginnin of a tape (yeah!)
Usually yellow, you yellow-bellies can pick a fate (uhh)
We ain't have to go soft to get this cake
I watched niggaz skate for figures, throw away rollerblades for figure skates
I'm just a rough New Yorker fuckin bitches that only listen to Drake
Every night's a dinner date, hater get a plate (bon appétit)
I tell shorties pick a steak
But make sure it's to-go, in case I wanna stop eatin to fuck ya face (haha)
Mouth full, give me mouth drool
Oh it's a Throwback Thurs'? You want that back blown out? Cool
But you ain't 'bout to, just B-O-B sittin on that couch boo
That ain't how it go, you know the House Rules

[Chorus: Slaughterhouse]
[Crook] Uhh, no phones inside the telly, pics inside the celly
        Baby you know the House Rules
[Joell] Yeah, respect over a dollar, death before dishonor
        Partner you know the House Rules
[Royce] Uhh, if I'm up, you can't be down and I'm down to tear shit up for you
        Homie you know the House Rules
[Joe B] Yeah, all bitches with flat stomachs, no cars under a hundred
        My nigga you know the House Rules

[Crooked I]
I'm high, chillin with Bruno on Mars
Crooked's verses put 'em in hearses, call 'em funeral bars
But these funeral bars, they bought me them beautiful cars
Like a celebrity photographer, I shoot for the stars
I'm just grindin with my clique 'til we close to the La Cosa Nostra
Lookin over my shoulder with a toaster and a shoulder holster
Cause niggaz wanna approach or get close, they could hope to smoke ya
When a vulture opposes ya folks it's an emotional roller coaster
Ya friends became foes, everything backwards, pimps became hoes
You know how the game goes
Fuck it, one less nigga to split the pie up
As long as I triumph, you fake fucks can dry hump
Success is the mission before the mortician fill me with embalming fluid
I promise that I gotta do it
I took some street money then I added some commas to it
To cover my ass like ObamaCare and the trauma unit, G

[Royce Da 5'9"]
OHH what you thought? You thought I wasn't loaded up, huh?
You thought I left my last hot line floatin
in the puddle of vomit before I sobered up, huh?
I hope you know you niggaz sound mad
And it's goin down fast with no signs of slowin up, huh?
It's blood sweat and tears, I shed blood sweat tears so wipe the sweat
I confess, I insane rap! I went away at the height of my success
and now the Gang back like biker vests
I'm Bogartin, the so-called un-Bogartable
Turnin yo' artist to post-modern flow particles
Far as the streets go
We got our fingers on the pulse of this with no cardio, believe me
We slidin all over this chess board
like we playin a lil' Ouija/Luigi with no Mario, this shit is easy
We blowin our budget, we'll battle you, fuck it
Our attitude's fuck it, that's why the song about nothin
What you thought? It's House Rules, fuck it, crime rules is in your face
Wet your Gucci with the Nine tool, you try to win this race
Hock a loogie on ya Louis V and Louboutin shoe until we see the baton move
How you gon' defend ya fate?
And then send you astray, make you late continuous
It's a win-win for us, like you askin us a question continuously
You can't contend with us, one of us like ten of us
Crew is covered and it's the government, gunners is like senators
Huh~!

[Joe Budden]
I'm in all black like I just got a funeral call
Stand up guy that was rumored to fall, before the goons get involved
If it's a problem I hope it's soon to be solved
Nigga done did so many drugs that I'm immune to 'em all
Whole state is on my back, can't waiver from the facts
Drop some money on your head, I'm just playin with the racks
But in case you wanna act - don't
Fruit of the Loom, now get evasive with that, bunch of grapes on a strap
that'll do whatever Joe says in Tropez
with a bird that look like Selena Gomez, a younger Felipe Lopez
Free agents wanna get down, that's on the back page
Whole team got one in the chamber, where's the cap space?
Vixen in the bed with another on the dial
I know the Wi-Fi was great, shorty buffered for a while
It's Joe, speedin off with the tailpipe smokin
And fuck rules, they was made to be broken, the House is back open

[Chorus]