onslaught lyrics – slaughterhouse

you dealin with a four headed monster
ya’ll are john mccain you can’t lift your arms up
these piranhas live by a certain code of conduct
f*ck fly ho’s and blow ganja

be a prophet, prediction
the year 2029 is gonna be the apocalypse
caused by the aprophypse me
i got it, lock and key
tell the labels we about to go on a shoppin spree
and if ya’ll don’t wanna sign us your corny
tell ya ho to swallow two a deez nuts and call us in the morning

we the answer to the dance floor, please
you gotta f*ck us all b*tch you can’t ortiz, budden, crooked, nickel
d*mn wh*r* please, we up in this b*tch like trans or seave
we the voltron crew, it’s whateva ya folks wan do, we turn this b*tch into socom ii
i’m the best rapper alive lil wayne’s migraine, jay z’s headache
touchin what da lead ain’t
motha f*ck ya feelins, you don’t know with whatcha dealin
tryna catch up you musta spilled n
i’m amongst hustla’s killin, money stacks touch the ceiling
what the f*ck ya feelin… you will never feel
you will never sail, you can’t feel me see me
they should use my knuckles instead of brail
i walk on my toes like how the f*ck this talk is cheap talk it’s just gonna cost you the most
i’m the one really yo
i’m a gun, spark like a milly yo
you a j-hood gun video
that ain’t a diss so please don’t diss me
the mag barrel longer than the g’s on fifty
i tell a b*tch, click ya heels twice and ease on with me
this is the life… we gonnee

i ain’t with the leanin and rockin
that ain’t even seen as an option
n*gg* as a teen i was mobbin
stick em off with more percentage a jeans than i’m robbin, mightt
walk around with the thing get to c*ckin
but i ain’t wanna be seen when it’s poppin
you ain’t seen poppin till you seen what i’m rockin
roll up lookin real clean in the drop and… n*gg*
i ain’t hit the bing or a cop since
dog tell ya whole team they cannot win
till they make some type of vaccine, i’m a problem
i don’t sleep when a soul got that wrong
even vera wang could get tapped on
clapped on, mashed on like mo
my mo was rambo, ammo
got money now so there’s marble on the handle
all wax so let’s beef with no candle
dismantle clips… bam
got some sh*t ya man won’t withstand
i make the hood like vip
now you can’t even get in without a wristband
i’m just bland… learn when you walk witcha head up high
the sh*t hits the fan then
bread gamblin, grand tamperin
in two bars i send ya man scrambling
now how it feel to throw punches and can’t land em
or be powerless while you can’t stand em
and treat comp like richard simmons behind closed doors
the boys’ll man handle em
be outpaced till you out the race
if you worried about ya face, about face… n*gg*
cause if you ain’t all about ya pace
then n*gg* you a transgender… all outta place

when i face off picture a thug missin his bud
any particular stick in the mud could get hit with a skud missile

/ slaughterhouse lyrics