Welcome to Detroit
This is the BET, Shady 2.0 Cypher 2011
Myself, Slaughterhouse, and Yelawolf
White Dawg, get ’em!
(Thank you, cracker king!)

Yeah
Put these motherfuckers in a box, then I send ’em away
Put ’em in a gray ‘llac and pop the trunk
Ayy, throw ’em in the back, jack; ha, dig ’em a grave
Put a brick inside that Xerox when I print up a page
Movin’ keys, I can relate, ’cause I live in a cage
I throw up the A, I take ’em to school, I give ’em a grade
An easy E for effort; that’s WWA
White with an attitude, alphabet soup is on my plate
All I got is Zs, they sleepin’ on me, I can’t get ’em awake
I spoon-feed ’em a sound in a room full of deceivers and clowns
Who believe in makin’ it rain ’cause all they see is the clouds
And I watch from the couch of the VIP like a potato
With a bunch of meatheads like, “Fuck it, I’ll just feed ’em a cow.”
Plenty of white boys to pick from this year
But before you pick a pepper, you better pick up your heater
‘Cause even Peter Piper could pick up a mic
But what it’s like to pick a fight with me
Is like puttin’ Nikes on a cheetah
Better speed up, or at least in my case Adidas
I’m out this bitch, drinkin’ Sprite by the two-liter
Holler! Shady Records…

Say I’m from the new school
I’ma say, “Check your tone and watch your mouth!”
If they teachin’ how to Dougie, I’m condonin’ droppin’ out
Forced to wild, y’all birthed me, then gave me up
I just perfected being hip-hop’s foster child; now check it
Don’t blame y’all for being trash, fans are coppin’ it
The radio’s the crime scene, the masses are the hostages
In my youth I’d throw shots, the fad was dodgin’ it
I’m grown, I ain’t watchin’ the throne, I’m sabotagin’ it
You see that four-headed monster in the storm looms?
Snipe ’em from a distance; the scope got a long zoom
You Super Mario thugs is in the wrong room
Gotta figure here you won’t get bigger if you on shrooms
If it was left to me, I’d revive what the game be ’bout
I’d have took the wine outta Amy house
Enough raps from you scrub cats ’bout cockin’ a snub back
Wayne couldn’t teach me how to love that
But I got this chick from uptown, she my summer bunny
Both parents broke, but she come from money
Think my bread is her paper to burn
So I lock her out, and now she doubt David is Stern
She so bad, I make her hit the telly from a taxi
Then dead her in the Holiday Inn, learned that from Max B
That’s why the haters envy, kinda wanna send me llamas
I made it right before their eyes, like I was Benihana’s
Is it me, or is what I’m hearing just pitiful?
Airwaves the same, now the stereo’s typical
My skin’s thick, so the critics ignored
So unafraid to die you’d think I did it before
The boy’s Rodman with the trash talk
Magic or Walt with the black ball
Way I bounce off the asphalt with cat paws, glass jaw
Hood of your mask will be the Blackfoot with no passport
Body be found in a mansion in one of my trapdoors
If punks had award, you status whores categore
Probably be that of awards
Between Michael Rapaport and Kenny Lattimore
I know hip-hop’s alive and well
If it died, you other crews wouldn’t survive the smell

Ladies and gentlemen… (You scared now?)
Make that face at ’em, dog!
Crooked I
Get ’em!

I spot a victim, the plot’ll thicken when the clock is tickin’
I caught him slippin’, I gotta give him a shot, I hit him
With proper spittin’, hottest writtens and compositions
So competition’s a contradiction
Somebody mention they got a Crooked, highly fiction
We probably different, got Gotti henchmen
Opposition, I’ll body quick as Bugatti engines
I’m on a mission to get richer, the sickest lyric-kicker
Diggin’ a ditch for different spitters
Weak lyricists get disfigured
Sip liquor, spit like a sick mixture
Of Notorious, Pun and L; get the big picture?
The poster, I’ll roast ya
My mind so deadly it’s just like the beanie is close to a holster
It’s over, control my whole coastal region
Like I’m supposed to, flow is goin’ postal even
Open season, heart close to freezin’
Ruthless as Eazy, nigga, approach, I’m squeezin’
Believe me, dopest West-Coaster breathin’
So most y’all hope I’m vegan; nope, I’m beefin’
Rappers need to keep it trill, give me a beat to kill
Too many people still eatin’ sleeping pills
People sleepin’ on my ether skills
And y’all ain’t even real, you ’bout to die in this cypher
Before you die you should do the Jada and leave a will, for real

I ain’t a rap dude, I’m a dude who rap
Before this I was movin’ crack
Killers y’all become when y’all rhyme, I salute and dap
And if I blink, they’ll remove your snaps, you ain’t cool, you wack
With your foolish act
Skinny jeans don’t mean your ass shoot, it means your booty claps, haha
Don’t play like Tyler Perry
This the Slaughterhouse of pain, flow brown, tight and heavy
When it come to sixteens, I’m a fiend
Seen in the studio near a needle with a mean lean
Probably writin’ bars to Nas’ “Thief’s Theme,” gettin’ my yaowa on
Man, all these Olajuwons, we the dream team
This is an all day slaughter
They fiendin’ for us to break, like Beyonce’s water
The four quarters doin’ all the eatin’
And y’all gotta know why I made the cut, I’m Puerto Rican
Ortiz keep the fire ready
And tryna put me out’s like tryna steal a transvestite from Eddie

Hahahahahaha
Hahaha
A’ight (Ayo)
Yeah, Joe
All right, go ahead, rap
Lyrical miracles

I’m do-or-die dope
And you can make the sticker sittin’ on the door of that Phantom your suicide note
Hi, Rihanna, is Nicki livin’ with you?
Let me know so I can buy binoculars and telescopes
Hi, Rihanna, I don’t need to know you better
You tell me you love my music again, we go together
Bye, Rihanna—now back to y’all fools
We rock out, like the outside of a guitar school
Thousand dollar frames, I prefer to see the world through
Don’t ask me nothin’ ’bout Budden, I beat my girl too
You aks me why do I keep her, I say it’s cheaper to
That’s why I ride around in a Rolls, like Wiz Khalifa do
Rappers, I’m your daddy, I tell you straight as this
You don’t kill, but your father will, like Jaden Smith
I tell you like I tell my Spanish chick
You fly, but I ain’t goin’ down on no landin’ strip
So get your wax on, like Daniel San, or I’ma have to
Run
Like De la Hoya in drag when cameras come
Point out the greatest rapper alive, I’ll head-shot him
Smack his girl on the butt and buy her some red bottom
Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife
While I’m cyber-sexin’ with Jessica Alba via Skype
I’m on my D-boy, Deebo thing
Spiritual steelo swing, like Cee-Lo Green
Get out the camera with your B-Roll bling, you know your flow is wack
We cornered the market, like a Wal-Mart in a cul-de-sac
Yeah, this what two million singles sold
And an album that’s gold look like without having to sell your soul
Nickel

Ayo, lyrical miracle, spiritual individual, criminal
Subliminal in your swimming pool… (Boooooo!)
You’re ’bout to see peace destroyed, it’ll never be restored
When I unleash these beastly hordes on your CD stores
Wanna stop it? You gon’ need a priest, at least three swords
A license to ill from the Beastie Boys
Three Ouija boards, and a squeegee, and please be warned
Don’t ask what the squeegee’s for
Or the holy water, acid raps that’ll eat these floors
Eat a hole in a rhyme book, you see these horns?
And as for me, you ask when I’m gone, will he be mourned?
Is puke lukewarm? Should Casey Anthony do porn?
Can that chick fit a newborn dead baby inside a frickin’ shoebox with a shoehorn
Smothered in chloroform, so she can go get her groove on?
Can she duct-tape and Velcro a fetus?
Joell, yo, tell Joe I need his
Empty box from his old shell-toed Adidas
So I can put these babies in a fetal position
They’re gettin’ elbows to the penis
Yeah, big deal, I took some little kid’s Big Wheel
And spit in his frickin’ big kids meal
Quit tryna bite me and pinch, you wench, sit still!
Did you just put your six-inch heel through my Benz windshield?!
Is it dust we ’bout to kick up?
Can Yelawolf fit a fifth of rum in a big cup
Between his stick shift in his frigging pickup
And drink like a hick redneck hillbilly will ’til he gets hicc-ups?
Flippin’ the script up, like Mike Vick
Gettin’ bit in his junk by a Pit, yup, I’m a sick pup
I’d be a horrible magician, ’cause I’d fuck a trick up
Fix your lips up to say somethin’ fly, or zip up!
Ayy, B, let’s see:
You said you’re gonna do X-Y-Z
‘Til you fuck around and get dropped
Like an E when you add an I-N-G
Don’t put a K in front of that, though, when I MC
‘Cause I’m not the king of this microphone booth, it’s more like a phone booth
Superman in this bitch, Kryptonite won’t do
It gives me more power
I bump the Fat Boys and eat rat poison, take meteor showers
Fresh outta the mental hospital
And me not flossin’ a middle finger while I hop in a mosh pit
Will be like Nas doin’ gospel or R&B—you crazy?
Me pushin’ up daisies, that thought is impossible
As if flashin’ across the news
Posdnuos was caught with a prostitute
With a huge johnson, boobs and a monstrous tube
Of lube, and a bra, some boots, some panties, and an aqua blue Mazda
Swallowin’ a Popsicle, playin’ tonsil pool
So kill the rumors, it ain’t happenin’; I’ma rap ’til I’m fossil fuel