Song Title

Slaughterhouse - Life In The City Lyrics

Slaughterhouse – Life In The City Lyrics

[Hook]
Life in the city is not very pretty
It seems like a waste of your time

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]
Trojans cause the lifestyles bust faster
No font on no backwood, just Dutchmaster
Fit for handing a radio on Funkmaster
I don’t come from a wack hood with a Dutch factor
Ten speed in a black hood, that’s a gun clapper
We chop fair ones ‘till someone collapsed of lung asthma
Before this I lived a lifestyle like ”fuck rappers”
A buck trapper up after duck with the cut cracker
Tucked up under the tongue, who want a buck half of
That’s a smiley face on your cheek, stitch ‘em up laughter
I snuffed son ‘cause he walked through with a rough hatter
Came in the store and stepped on my Timbs and made ‘em scuff faster
These niggas ain’t ‘bout that life, bunch of young actors
Play the right part when you see me, say “What up Scrapper?”
See you ain’t got to like me but you will respect me
Everytime you say you the nicest, boy, you indirect me
Jesus Christ I’m a crisis, you a sip of Pepsi
Little buds, little suds at the tip of a Nestle
I toot my own horn, I’m Dizzy Gillespie
And I reps my city correctly (YAOWA)

[Hook]
Life in the city is not very pretty
It seems like a waste of your time

[Verse 2: Joell Ortiz]
One, two, my project gritty, extra far from pretty
Staircase sloppy pissy and the lobby tipsy
And I keep a Barbie with me looking good
My niggas can’t leave the country, I bring the country to the hood
Let’s go – my real name my rap shit, I ain’t make believe
Same nigga who got this break is still breaking knees
I‘m still playing Cee-Lo and the bank is cheese
Eight G’s I [?] better, feel that Vegas breeze?
Product of the gutter, no father, just a mother
Know you running, but run farther
When you hear me say “Word to my mother”
Your boy is extra thorough, ask my burrough
When I’m in Brooklyn they go nuts
You little squirrels can’t buy a referral
These niggas won’t cause they can’t so they don’t copy
Bitches with they best friend be yelling “Go Papi”
Y’all niggas got these Freshmen feelin’ so cocky
But it’s just a bunch of yes-men and a nobody
Just cause you write rhymes don’t mean you rhyme right
You a light-high, don’t jump and become a highlight
Loose sight of your hind legs and live in hindsight
Cause you niggas aight, but you ain’t quite like (YAOWA)