[Intro: M.O.P.]   Hahaha... they think they rid ourselves   We definitely got to give the drummer somethin (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 fucked, 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 lettin me slap my head on your nose   Where the fuck 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 fuckin with it   We reppin Brooklyn (c'mon!) Jersey (c'mon!)   Long Beach (c'mon!) Detroit (c'mon!)      [Crooked I]   Geah, spaz out, knock a nigga ass out   Knew he had a paper thin chin and a glass mouth   West Coast shit, 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 fuck your daughter and flee   And leave all that married shit 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]      [Royce Da 5'9"]   Do y'all want problems with us? I guess not   Broadcastin live from a Pyrex pot   The steeets 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 talkin repetitive call it Chip-Fu   You ain't never heard of me mami you excused   I don't only diss dudes   You sleepin on us, that's what it is - just understand   that I ain't gettin a wink of sleep 'til you lookin at the back of your lids   I'm a lyrical ounce of PIFF   Still countin them chips, for real mami, Slaughterhouse in this {"BITCH!"}      [Chorus]      [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 chasin all of your old bitches   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 watchin, I could watch back      [Chorus - repeat 2X]