Our House (Feat. Eminem And Skylar Grey)
Slaughterhouse
I wanna be the best who ever did it
Don't know if that goal is feasible, or it isn't
But if it is please God, if you're listenin'
Please give me the strength to crush competition
You can't blame me for dreaming, I'm a dreamer
And if I'm coming off brash please for give me
But, that's all I want
I just wanna be the illest MC (That's all I want)
The same time being as real as can be
Mayhem, sickness, murder, horror
These are the kind of words that describe my aura, D rap
Rass Kass Kurupt, Redman I am cut from that cloth
Write a rhyme about me? You a dead man
Cool J, I'm Bad video
Learn the whole routine and perform it for my father's friends
While they smoked and drank symphony
D-O-C, inspired me to write what
Would eventually put me on airplanes like B.O.B
Canibus, Wu-Tang, you know our history but hats off
When we rap this Jack Frost we outline the track chalk
Thank God for the one two cadence
Thank God for the lunch room tables
I'm trying to be the sickest nigga dead or alive
And if I happen to fall short it's been one hell of a ride
Chronic 1 and 2, looking up at the sky at the sun
Up until the day the sun is you
You listening to Hip Hop, you in Jay's house
Wayne's house, Nas' house
Em's house, our house
So welcome, to our house
Where no one, comes back out
You might find, comfort
In here, in here, in here
When I was a little boy I wanted to be a rapper
Wanted to be on the radio and snapping pictures after
And so I grabbed my pen and pad and scribbled chitter chatter
It started off whack but in the words of a
Ten year old my shit was getting phatter
I hit the studio at 16, stupider
Not knowing how the booth would feel, what's (?) and two inch (?)
How you ad-lib, what's a punch I ain't a boxer
But I sure enough learned the ropes, look to the mic you made a monster
Now everyday's a game of Contra, I got 99 men
An infinite amount of rounds inside this mighty fine pen
This is my dream, don't fuck with it I'm telling you
Cause anyone can get dusted as long as production is available
I'm disgusted as a fan, look how niggas sounding damn
Weak head, ya'll suck bad
Fuck swag and your kicks from South Japan
I'm gonna be the best in this profession
I've been invested all my life
So wipe your feet before you step in
Our house
So welcome, to our house
Where no one, comes back out
You might find, comfort
In here, in here, in here
(I just wanna be the illest MC) That's all I want
(The same time being as real as can be)
Yo in my house, the lights out
No utilities in the facilities feeling my life's 'bout
To wipe out, these feelings I'm feeling be killing me
I pull the mic out, can't strike out
Cause if winning is really my enemy, I pull a nine out
Blow my mind out, is the end of me really serenity
Man in my house, it's rap or die
Get a piece of that apple pie
Life is a Pharcyde song, and that bitch just passes by
So I, got lyrically complex, that way I could fly jets
Get my moms out the projects
With these concepts, competition can't digest
And then I stress cause the road is rough
Start feeling like shit sour
The electricity in my will power, could still power
The twin towers, for ten hours so send cowards
The message from Crooked I, Royce Da 5
Joe Budden, Em Yaowa
In our, house we spit like six hours
The way I feel now I could spit for six hours
Straight, only way to be great, is to dig down
If you can hear this sound in
Side my mind sounds like a fucking drive-by
That's what the inside of my mind's like, looking back on
My career even, hindsights, television, 5 mics
Never wanted that so bad thinking I would go mad
Nomad with a notepad, go Taz
Spaz on these ho bags, you bother me but I never wanna show that
Just don't act like it ever does
Even though you know that that will never come
A day someone blows past you who never was
Someone whose as dope as you
Ever was, and you hope that's true cause
The competitor in you would ever let someone be better than you
And you know that, so you don't ever hold back
What you gonna go back, to working a regular job?
Fuck that I'm gonna go hard grab on my, gonads
Tell them fuck theyselves
They call me a wigger like Renee Zell
But I raised hell like a stay-at-home dad
Rap is the only thing that I was ever really, bad to the bone at
Guess I'm similar to, gangrene in them, ain't grieving them
Hulk Smash, so much passion but no compassion
If eyes are the windows to the soul then it's
Broken glass and there's no trespassing
Alright now here we go
Dre stamped me now I'm stamping Yelawolf be ready for the
Most competitive click in the world it's like Clash Of The Titans
I'm releasing the cracker it's time to set it again
And when it's said and it's all done
None shall fuck with this squadron
So come on in, at your own risk
This is (Our House) Bitch!
So welcome, to our house
Where no one, comes back out
You might find, comfort
In here, in here, in here
compositores: RYAN MONTGOMERY, ALEXANDER JUNIOR GRANT, JOELL CHRISTOPHER ORTIZ, H HAFFERMAN, DOMINICK WICKLIFFE, MARSHALL B III MATHERS, ALEXANDER GRANT, Holly Hafermann, Joell Ortiz, Joseph Budden, MARSHALL MATHERS III
Você é fã de Slaughterhouse? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
Don't know if that goal is feasible, or it isn't
But if it is please God, if you're listenin'
Please give me the strength to crush competition
You can't blame me for dreaming, I'm a dreamer
And if I'm coming off brash please for give me
But, that's all I want
I just wanna be the illest MC (That's all I want)
The same time being as real as can be
Mayhem, sickness, murder, horror
These are the kind of words that describe my aura, D rap
Rass Kass Kurupt, Redman I am cut from that cloth
Write a rhyme about me? You a dead man
Cool J, I'm Bad video
Learn the whole routine and perform it for my father's friends
While they smoked and drank symphony
D-O-C, inspired me to write what
Would eventually put me on airplanes like B.O.B
Canibus, Wu-Tang, you know our history but hats off
When we rap this Jack Frost we outline the track chalk
Thank God for the one two cadence
Thank God for the lunch room tables
I'm trying to be the sickest nigga dead or alive
And if I happen to fall short it's been one hell of a ride
Chronic 1 and 2, looking up at the sky at the sun
Up until the day the sun is you
You listening to Hip Hop, you in Jay's house
Wayne's house, Nas' house
Em's house, our house
So welcome, to our house
Where no one, comes back out
You might find, comfort
In here, in here, in here
When I was a little boy I wanted to be a rapper
Wanted to be on the radio and snapping pictures after
And so I grabbed my pen and pad and scribbled chitter chatter
It started off whack but in the words of a
Ten year old my shit was getting phatter
I hit the studio at 16, stupider
Not knowing how the booth would feel, what's (?) and two inch (?)
How you ad-lib, what's a punch I ain't a boxer
But I sure enough learned the ropes, look to the mic you made a monster
Now everyday's a game of Contra, I got 99 men
An infinite amount of rounds inside this mighty fine pen
This is my dream, don't fuck with it I'm telling you
Cause anyone can get dusted as long as production is available
I'm disgusted as a fan, look how niggas sounding damn
Weak head, ya'll suck bad
Fuck swag and your kicks from South Japan
I'm gonna be the best in this profession
I've been invested all my life
So wipe your feet before you step in
Our house
So welcome, to our house
Where no one, comes back out
You might find, comfort
In here, in here, in here
(I just wanna be the illest MC) That's all I want
(The same time being as real as can be)
Yo in my house, the lights out
No utilities in the facilities feeling my life's 'bout
To wipe out, these feelings I'm feeling be killing me
I pull the mic out, can't strike out
Cause if winning is really my enemy, I pull a nine out
Blow my mind out, is the end of me really serenity
Man in my house, it's rap or die
Get a piece of that apple pie
Life is a Pharcyde song, and that bitch just passes by
So I, got lyrically complex, that way I could fly jets
Get my moms out the projects
With these concepts, competition can't digest
And then I stress cause the road is rough
Start feeling like shit sour
The electricity in my will power, could still power
The twin towers, for ten hours so send cowards
The message from Crooked I, Royce Da 5
Joe Budden, Em Yaowa
In our, house we spit like six hours
The way I feel now I could spit for six hours
Straight, only way to be great, is to dig down
If you can hear this sound in
Side my mind sounds like a fucking drive-by
That's what the inside of my mind's like, looking back on
My career even, hindsights, television, 5 mics
Never wanted that so bad thinking I would go mad
Nomad with a notepad, go Taz
Spaz on these ho bags, you bother me but I never wanna show that
Just don't act like it ever does
Even though you know that that will never come
A day someone blows past you who never was
Someone whose as dope as you
Ever was, and you hope that's true cause
The competitor in you would ever let someone be better than you
And you know that, so you don't ever hold back
What you gonna go back, to working a regular job?
Fuck that I'm gonna go hard grab on my, gonads
Tell them fuck theyselves
They call me a wigger like Renee Zell
But I raised hell like a stay-at-home dad
Rap is the only thing that I was ever really, bad to the bone at
Guess I'm similar to, gangrene in them, ain't grieving them
Hulk Smash, so much passion but no compassion
If eyes are the windows to the soul then it's
Broken glass and there's no trespassing
Alright now here we go
Dre stamped me now I'm stamping Yelawolf be ready for the
Most competitive click in the world it's like Clash Of The Titans
I'm releasing the cracker it's time to set it again
And when it's said and it's all done
None shall fuck with this squadron
So come on in, at your own risk
This is (Our House) Bitch!
So welcome, to our house
Where no one, comes back out
You might find, comfort
In here, in here, in here
compositores: RYAN MONTGOMERY, ALEXANDER JUNIOR GRANT, JOELL CHRISTOPHER ORTIZ, H HAFFERMAN, DOMINICK WICKLIFFE, MARSHALL B III MATHERS, ALEXANDER GRANT, Holly Hafermann, Joell Ortiz, Joseph Budden, MARSHALL MATHERS III
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