- Голоса:
 - Композиторы:
 - Montgomery
 - Ryan D./budden
 - Joseph Anthony/ortiz
 - Joell Christopher/wickliffe
 - Dominick/warwar
 - Nicholas M.
 
- Жанры:
 - Hip-Hop
 
- Теги:
 - lyrical
 - rap
 - raw
 
- Смотри также:
 
Slaughterhouse - Текст песни Sound Off
You herbs we merged, we're an alliance
 We fight fire with flamethrowers, why would you try us?
 We an outfit, equivalent to Voltron's
 That boy Crooked I is equivalent to four arms
 Joell Ortiz is the body, the cannibal slash killer
 Kill you then eat your body, Joe Budden is the pair of legs
 He runs shit alongside I, the apparent head
 I am the general, bow now, fuck saluting
 I don't really think y'all niggas get it
 Run up on your with a army it is on until it's done, finished
 You got a problem with any one of my slaughters
 Then y'all niggas can come with it
 Me and Joey, we a perfect fit
 He like starting shit, I like ending shit
 I don't squash the beef, I don't bend a bit
 It ain't intricate
 I'm gon' shoot your stupid ass
 You too could laugh, you gon' die smiling
 Try wilding, I get hostile then I'm violent
 I don't make threats nigga I promise
 My style is Stalin mixed with sick lyrics
 If you hear it, it'll lift your spirit
 Turn your appearance into a disappearance
 Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but my clique
 Nothing but hot shit, follow me, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I put my money on my clique, hot shit
 Coming out the barrel of my fifth
 I got a raw flow and I stay hungry more so
 Guess that's why I'm the torso
 I pour sweat when I perform shows
 What I record goes down as the best
 But the vets won't let that torch go
 Y'all could keep it, they got flashlights now
 And flamethrowers and I got one on my back right now
 Remain focused, that's what I tell myself now and then
 Don't wanna go back to that block like when Varejão defends
 Uh, oh, my stomach growls again, I ain't none of you cowards friends
 Every human out of my sight before I count to ten
 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight
 I'm hungry like I never ate
 Set a table up with knives, forks and spoons, I'm 'bout to get a plate
 All these sweet dummies looking me like a pepper steak
 Means we never separate, we ain't married
 Jab it every time I touch a pen, I sort of set a date
 I'll devastate your career, look I'm a demonstrate
 Let me get a good breath take before I regulate
 Okay, bye, bye you guys, don't try to rhyme
 'Cause line for line what I design is mine and mine
 Sport a joint divine, meaning right behind
 And thank God it shines all the light in mine
 So my eyes can find a nice dime to grind
 Come here girl, toma, toma, take that, take that
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but my clique
 Nothing but hot shit, follow me, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I put my money on my clique, hot shit
 Coming out the barrel of my fifth
 Slaughterhouse - Sound Off - http://ru.motolyrics.com/slaughterhouse/sound-off-lyrics.html
 You rappers chasing popularity by any means
 Doing silly things, buying too many size 20 skinny jeans
 The west treat me like I'm really king
 I'm Pacquiao in the Philippines, illest thing niggas seen
 You rappers dressing like you fitting to sing Billie Jean
 I got to intervene, fuck you I'm a intervene
 You loud talking, wouldn't kill a thing
 Matter of fact, where's your head, nigga? I got the guillotine
 Fuck your Hollywood Limousine and rented bling
 I give you three red dots and I call it a triple beam
 I'll put your pad on your property, fag
 Properly rob you and hop in the Jag
 If you stopping the profit, the glock will be popping your body
 You'll rock a colostomy bag, shot in the abs, moms will be sad
 Pops will be mad, doctor be glad
 Possibly be stopping the plasma dropping
 Clock running out and the outcome bad
 Any one of you niggas fuck with my team?
 Pretty ass thing with the infrared beam
 Sleep on that and get killed while you dream
 Fuck a rap group Slaughterhouse a machine
 Slaughterhouse, a regime
 I'm gooned up if you know what I mean
 Everybody wanna be down with the king
 No, no, no, no, no fly zone
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but my clique
 Nothing but hot shit, follow me, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I put my money on my clique, hot shit
 Coming out the barrel of my fifth
 My one goal's to astonish, tell the President, VP
 Notify the Congress, they say I'm arrogant, pompous but I'm honest
 I tell them keep an accomplice away from the accomplished
 They still making threats on your highness
 But I tell them where I be, they just ignore the compass
 I think all your mans' play dough, I don't buy that movie, Fandango
 Fans they know that what? You a soldier to a general
 Baby steel, got it in a bag, airtight Navy SEAL
 Tell them little dudes I ain't mad at y'all
 College kids like Asher Roth
 Y'all just trying to put food on the table
 While I'm a just come and try to snatch it off
 If it ain't for me, most young dudes would be angrily
 But anxiously awaiting bankruptcy
 Wonder what makes little motherfuckers think they the same as me
 I'm synchronized you and your men should die
 Learn certain shit you ain't meant to try
 Got the ground covered with some niggas in disguise
 Best bet is to attempt to fly
 Shit's a game, you down, you in for life
 Fuck y'all, I ain't got to generalize
 Y'all enabled to write what the pen describes
 So when he asked what I meant and why, I tell him
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but my clique
 Nothing but hot shit, follow me, sound off, sound off, hut
 I fuck with nothing but gangstas
 Nothing but hustla niggas, sound off, sound off, hut
 I put my money on my clique, hot shit
 Coming out the barrel of my fifth















