Slaughterhouse - Woodstock (Hood Hop) Lyrics
Send this Ringtone to your Cell[Intro: M.O.P.]
Hahaha... they think they rid ourselves
We definitely got to give the drummer something (c'mon!)
Slaughterhouse (c'mon!) M.O.P. (c'mon!)
Everybody (c'mon!)
[Joell Ortiz]
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 f*cked, 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 letting me slap my head on your nose
Where the f*ck 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)
[Chorus: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop!
Hands up if you f*ckin' with it
We reppin' Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)
[Crooked I]
Geah, spaz out, knock a n*gga ass out
Knew he had a paper thin chin and a glass mouth
West Coast sh*t, 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 f*ck your daughter and flee
And leave all that married sh*t 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
[Chorus: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop!
Hands up if you f*ckin' with it
We reppin' Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)
[Royce Da 5'9"]
Do y'all want problems with us? I guess not
Broadcasting live from a Pyrex pot
The streets 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 talking repetitive call it Chip-Fu
You ain't never heard of me mami you excused
I don't only diss dudes
You sleeping on us, that's what it is - just understand
That I ain't getting a wink of sleep 'til you looking at the back of your lids
I'm a lyrical ounce of PIFF
Still counting them chips, for real mami, Slaughterhouse in this ("B*tch!")
[Chorus: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop!
Hands up if you f*ckin' with it
We reppin' Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)
[Joe Budden]
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 chasing all of your old b*tches
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 watching, I could watch back
[Chorus: M.O.P.]
Yo, this that Woodstock hood hop!
Hands up if you f*ckin' with it
We reppin' Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)
Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)
[repeat]
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