Slaughterhouse - Party

[Intro: Crooked I & (Royce Da 5'9")] What the fuck you talking 'bout? (You ain't in my lane, nigga) This is Slaughterhouse (Me and you ain't the same, nigga) [Verse 1: Crooked I] Why you think your bitch on my dick? Cause I'm a paid nigga Made nigga deep in her pussy like a grave digga I'm so high that I can chill on the roof Pop an Oxycontin pill in the booth, give 'em the truth Tell the world them lyrical killers still on the loose If I make the crowd bounce my nigga Eminem'll recoup That's why the rhymes Crooked I spit is making a mosh pit Fly shit, sicker than hospice, takin' 'em hostage Yeah, we don't party like you niggas do We don't party like them niggas do 4 a.m. 20 groupies on the tour bus On a coke high, waitin' to fuck the 4 of us Nah, we don't party like you niggas do Nah, we don't party like you niggas do Put some blue dolphins off in a rocket I'm 'bout to blast off, now I'm feelin' proper We don't party like you niggas do We don't party like you niggas do [Bridge: Royce Da 5'9"] Wadadadang wadadadadang (blao) (x2) [Verse 2: Royce Da 5'9] Fuck you nerds doing everything cause Jay Z done said it Fuck you and your new urge to be a fake sneaker head Fuck you and your ball game floor seats If you just there with a broad, neither one of y'all ain't scorekeep 'Prolly thought LeBron was a cornerback Heat game, wearing Grape 5's and a Hornets hat Fuck you and your leather jerseys and hairy arms Niggas bald then they get big headed like Barry Bonds Fuck you and the crowd you perform in front of Like you was born a stunna, your money reformed a runner Your Instagram got bitches saying "I heard he's rich" So you just fucked your first bad bitch at 36 That's what I call fake felt, never saw a weight scale Shirt tucked in in front, showin' off your H belt This one of them moments where your money ain't the issue I can call you corny cause corny niggas get rich too Still a sucker, corny niggas get rich too We don't party like you niggas do [Bridge: Royce Da 5'9"] [Verse 3: Joell Ortiz] Man fuck you fuckboys, you boys fuckin' with the wrong one Fuck your fake high, don't give a fuck if you're on one Fuck that broad you're fuckin', that pussy prolly smell cray Fuck, you ain't a G, who give a fuck what your belt say? Fuck you and your section and your bottles and your sparklers And your shades that look like night vision goggles, fuck you Knock off, enough with all the narcotics you knock off The hood jump off the only time you get your rocks off Snapple fact you never pop off, your block's soft Man I'll knock everybody on your block's block off You fake gat clapper, mad actor I'm backwards, watch how this pump give you mad asthma Put your punk story in it's last chapter I fucked the pumps off a diva, you a Kat Stack'r No party's like a house party, yeah You know a shorty's sleepin' on that couch, prolly dead That's what we get into, why even knock? You'll never get into A house party, we don't party like you niggas do [Bridge: Royce Da 5'9"] [Verse 4: Joe Budden] I know a couple new niggas tried to start this Lemme help you out dawg, trickin' is still trickin' regardless We not in the same, you funny to us I use my mouth for my G, you need your money to fuck You do a lot of that talkin', I'm done when I bust Take community pussy and be the dummy to cuff It's like everything you do with the opposite sex Is the opposite of correct, we ain't gotta give you respect So whoever raised you ain't practiced for real Type to buy a bitch a phone, be all checkin' the bill I've seen your type, corndog, wac