Life In The City Lyrics
| Song | Life In The City |
| Artist | Slaughterhouse |
| Album | House Rules |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Life in the city is not very pretty | |
| It seems like it's a waste of your time | |
| [Verse 1: Joell Ortiz] | |
| Trojans cause the lifestyles bust faster | |
| No font on no backwood, just Dutchmaster | |
| Fifth of Henn, 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 dropped of lung asthma | |
| Before this I lived a lifestyle like "***** rappers" | |
| A buck trapper up after dark 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 *****s 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] | |
| [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 lookin good | |
| My *****z can't leave the country, I bring the country to the hood (let's go!) | |
| My real name my rap *******t, I ain't make-believe (Joell) | |
| Same ***** who got this break'll still break your knees (uh-huh) | |
| I'm still playin Cee-Lo and the bank is cheese | |
| Eight G's I fold better, feel that Vegas breeze? | |
| Product of the gutter, no father, just a mother | |
| Know you runnin but run farther when you hear me say "Word to my mother" | |
| (Word to my mother!) Your boy is extra thorough, ask my borough | |
| When I'm in Brooklyn they go nuts, you little squirrels can't buy a referral | |
| These *****z won't cause they can't so they don't copy (nope!) | |
| ******* with they best friend be yellin "Go papi!" (yeah) | |
| Y'all *****z got these freshmen feelin so ****y | |
| But it's just a bunch of yes-men, and a no-body (ha ha!) | |
| Just cause you write rhymes don't mean you rhyme right | |
| You a light-high, don't jump and become a highlight | |
| Lose sight of your hind legs and live in hindsight | |
| Cause you *****z aight, but y'all ain't quite like (YAOWA) |
| Life in the city is not very pretty | |
| It seems like it' s a waste of your time | |
| Verse 1: Joell Ortiz | |
| Trojans cause the lifestyles bust faster | |
| No font on no backwood, just Dutchmaster | |
| Fifth of Henn, 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 dropped of lung asthma | |
| Before this I lived a lifestyle like " rappers" | |
| A buck trapper up after dark 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 s 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 | |
| Verse 2: Joell Ortiz | |
| Onetwo, my project gritty, extra far from pretty | |
| Staircase sloppy pissy and the lobby tipsy | |
| And I keep a Barbie with me lookin good | |
| My z can' t leave the country, I bring the country to the hood let' s go! | |
| My real name my rap t, I ain' t makebelieve Joell | |
| Same who got this break' ll still break your knees uhhuh | |
| I' m still playin CeeLo and the bank is cheese | |
| Eight G' s I fold better, feel that Vegas breeze? | |
| Product of the gutter, no father, just a mother | |
| Know you runnin but run farther when you hear me say " Word to my mother" | |
| Word to my mother! Your boy is extra thorough, ask my borough | |
| When I' m in Brooklyn they go nuts, you little squirrels can' t buy a referral | |
| These z won' t cause they can' t so they don' t copy nope! | |
| with they best friend be yellin " Go papi!" yeah | |
| Y' all z got these freshmen feelin so y | |
| But it' s just a bunch of yesmen, and a nobody ha ha! | |
| Just cause you write rhymes don' t mean you rhyme right | |
| You a lighthigh, don' t jump and become a highlight | |
| Lose sight of your hind legs and live in hindsight | |
| Cause you z aight, but y' all ain' t quite like YAOWA |
| Life in the city is not very pretty | |
| It seems like it' s a waste of your time | |
| Verse 1: Joell Ortiz | |
| Trojans cause the lifestyles bust faster | |
| No font on no backwood, just Dutchmaster | |
| Fifth of Henn, 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 dropped of lung asthma | |
| Before this I lived a lifestyle like " rappers" | |
| A buck trapper up after dark 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 s 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 | |
| Verse 2: Joell Ortiz | |
| Onetwo, my project gritty, extra far from pretty | |
| Staircase sloppy pissy and the lobby tipsy | |
| And I keep a Barbie with me lookin good | |
| My z can' t leave the country, I bring the country to the hood let' s go! | |
| My real name my rap t, I ain' t makebelieve Joell | |
| Same who got this break' ll still break your knees uhhuh | |
| I' m still playin CeeLo and the bank is cheese | |
| Eight G' s I fold better, feel that Vegas breeze? | |
| Product of the gutter, no father, just a mother | |
| Know you runnin but run farther when you hear me say " Word to my mother" | |
| Word to my mother! Your boy is extra thorough, ask my borough | |
| When I' m in Brooklyn they go nuts, you little squirrels can' t buy a referral | |
| These z won' t cause they can' t so they don' t copy nope! | |
| with they best friend be yellin " Go papi!" yeah | |
| Y' all z got these freshmen feelin so y | |
| But it' s just a bunch of yesmen, and a nobody ha ha! | |
| Just cause you write rhymes don' t mean you rhyme right | |
| You a lighthigh, don' t jump and become a highlight | |
| Lose sight of your hind legs and live in hindsight | |
| Cause you z aight, but y' all ain' t quite like YAOWA |
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