Chopping Block (feat. Slaughterhouse)

Uh

Rap **** back on the chopping block

Come out that house, back to your Mom and your Papa's spot

Back to the county, back to the three hots in a hostel cot

Come out the colossal rocks, back to your fossil watch

My life is foul, sometimes I wish I could write this down

To keep your wife from screaming out, "Jesus Christ", She can bite the towel

She receiving pipe from the nicest, my mic is Riker's Isle

My mind, deep as mining for diamonds, I raise MacGyver brow

I'm five minutes from perfect timing, I'm like the price is down

A high roller, Cairo'ed like I'm Chyna and Tyga child

Might've fucked one of you silver medalist's wifey but

I can't fight you 'cause, you might adjust, my Midas touch

I can't believe I just sat back and told that lie

I put this TEC back, and give you a gold black eye, blah

If I give a **** a shiner, consider the shit designer

Slaughter militant rhymers, hold up

My **** Nottz on the beat

Somethin' sneakerheads usually leave in the box on the feet, hold up

That's right rappers, back on the chopping block

Either fact is a Papa Doc's, back to your proper spot

We are not friends, we just connected, dot to dot

Stomp you till you feel like you livin' in Waka Flocka's sock

I could box, that's why **** opt to not

Money wide in my pocket, mockin' that Hasim Rahman knot

I philosophize, social stylist, them shits so timeless, this should be fossilized

Y'all just lie, y'all just falsify, y'all should be ostracized

Y'all should not be allowed to run alongside of my whip with the ostrich eye

Come out your house without your pride

A coward dies a thousand deaths, tells a thousand lies

You see them lames, tell 'em that I'm contracted

A killer on a powder high, game seven, Lebron clappin'

I'll have your, spinal column out of your body right by you and your body guard

Lookin' like lasagna and cottage fries

Retire or apologize, or die, you lookin' right in the fire

Tryna be hot as me or tryna see eye to eye

Obviously, honesty is not your policy

I'm two seconds from smackin' somebody face hard as hell

And I know that he listening

But the way shorty neck is positioning, while she spitting in the hole of my dick

Makes that other pussy not worth it

I put my foot in your ass with all my old verses

It's like my sole purpose is giving my soul's purpose

I don't start, but I finish you with a earth nap

E'rybody I turned into ashes believe they earned that

Skip rap, let's talk real people

To this day, I die laughin' with **** who really kill people

Mask, gloves and empties that would conceal diesel

Black snub that empty until they seal freeze you

Dice game with the re-up

In lobbies where they never mop the pee up, turn that M-O-P up

E'ry night Mom's prayin' that they ain't moppin' me up

I'm up top, gettin' mop from Mia, Mamma Mia

Now as far as the bars varying, I'm barbarian

He-Man, Hanna-Barbera action figure

Arms stiffer than Shawn Marion, when he ball carryin'

Oh man, we in slaughter mode, Paul Rosenberg, Pallbearers and Em

Who'd be left if the social media era died?

Shit, I blew checks before I was verified

I know the Dre that did beef before the Dre that did beats

Bloggers'd be on my meat if Detox leaked

Rap **** back on the chopping block

Kill 'em before they body rot, I use they body parts to paint a Basquiat

Really, I'm saving you, your label's raping you

Transforming your anus like a Autobot, assfucking a Cosmonaut

You probably like it, but keeping it low-key, bottom locked

You hit rock bottom, and go get your bottom rocked

I'm just tryna stop you like my father was tryna stop me

Then his condom popped, Crooked was born to defeat the odds a lot

I really don't understand why these imposters are popular

I'm confused like seeing my Jewish homie rocking' a swastika

During Hanukkah, 'stead of rockin' his yarmulke

Or Stevie Wonder gawking at Rihanna's exotic, erotic body

Through the wrong side of some top dollar binoculars

It's obvious (What?), somebody gotta be mockin' us

None given, I'm out of fucks, uh

I been on another level since I came into the industry

Still the illest spitin', gettin' rid of powder puffs

You cowards are out of luck, you Howards know how to duck

Forty caliber loud as fuck, for now it's tucked

What, rap **** back on the chopping block

Give this bitch to Biz, Markie, I beatbox a lot

She just want a confidant, her man want a problem, stop

His days'll be numbered like a calendar, that's the caveat

Any given Thursday, you gon' get what the church play

Holy organs, I mean it in the worst way

With the llama, I'm a farmer, I'm outstanding in my field

My skill is dead giveaway, if you will, now that's wordplay

I'm from the era of gang culture and crack smoke

I rap dope 'cause that was an escape for poor black folk

2Pac told us all, "America eats its babies"

Since I been in a Mercedes, my ladies relate to that quote

Upset, veins poppin' out of her neck, she give me mad throat

She a head doctor, minus the lab coat

And when it come to being an incredible spitter, my ****, I'm Eminem's negative picture, black GOAT

I'm nice, cuz

Yeah, rap **** back on the chopping block

Same goal, when **** was bumpin' Scott La Rock

Same goal, though **** swear you shockin', jock

Screamin', "What's poppin' up?", red beam, cockin' shots

With that said, no proceeding', give me lethal

And it could be on sight before a **** even see you (Word)

That's ride-by, dash off, and we laugh

I changed up for the future, my mask was off in the past

I heard your album, all sound like filler to me

That's why I'm askin', how they iller than me?

It's gettin' hot, you can feel the degrees, I been as real as could be

Different me, same song, Bryson Tiller agrees

Who you know is a uncharted team parted with lean?

And hit parks and bargain and a dream

And step to the Carter regime

And wash Carhartt jeans, hard as it seem

Was all part of going bored to some bars, to Bar King

Beg for your pardoning, your bothersome bar schemes

Matter fact, who the fuck you know is harder than me?

Say the gang broke up, 'cause shit, it wasn't the gang

Fuck a verse, when it's family, it just run in your veins, Joey

It go

Nickle

Happy to be back, guys

Crook, Joell, haha