Truth or Truth (Pt. 1|Explicit)-DJ Drama/Slaughterhouse

I'm stressed out so much I'm like, "Why stress it?" Am I selfish for asking myself "Would you rather count money or count blessings?" Now that's a wild question Fame turned my life upside down I guess it was meant to be like passing Beyonce a Tic-Tac And that ain't a diss, this way more to me than a diss track Jay-Z is God to me Nas is God to me! Eminem is like B.I.G. and Pac to me And if you disagree I hope you bleed hypocrisy! And this will be the realest sh*t I ever wrote Shoutout to all the crazy b**ches I've been involved with Thank y'all for making my wife a crazier b**ch than y'all b**ches Y'all might've lost me, but y'all win And this will be the realest sh*t I ever wrote Now let's talk about the BET Awards When Kanye went to the podium for the win And mentioned everyone in the same category as him but me and Em He said they motivated him And normally that would be ammo to hate on him But that ain't my M.O! My M.O. is to be mo' motivatin' This new-wave culture is so cultivatin'! Where the f**k do I fit in? And this will be the realest sh*t I ever wrote I succumb so much to this game I feel sorrow I answer more questions about the 40 and Game squabble Than I answer questions that I ask myself "Are you a good father?", the answer's, "Well F**k this! Royce got a game tomorrow" I ain't gotta spell out the offers If being famous means speaking to people in offices Over being there for your sons and daughters... I'm off this... I know the last couple of lines kinda fell out of the pocket But I don't give a f**k! Let me tell you this: When was the last time you copped some sh*t Where it actually came out of your pocket? Answer that! If I got to answer questions from you You got to answer questions from me! I'm f**king my whole life up for you, answer this question: "What the f**k are you doing for me?", answer that! Still I love my fans, even though y'all looking at me like I'm just a drunk ni**a That's just throwing up behind sh*t, blowing up, but ni**a I ain't throwing up sh*t but my hands And this is just me growing up Courtney Artesia, Kino and Vish, please support me I need ya But in reality an artist is supposed to be supported by easels But in the meanwhile, I'm just supported by evil [Verse 2: Joe Budden] I'm no longer f**kin' amused I mean I addressed this sh*t on "Cut You Loose" How long am I supposed to stick around for this f**kin' abuse? Every time I go to leave, I figure "f**k is the use?" I endure it for the true fans that covet that new Or is that just another f**kin' excuse? Do I do it for attention cause I crave it, I won't mention it, I'll save it If you know me than you know a ni**a treasure anonymity Ni**a thought that as a man, you must be kiddin' me And I'm starting to feel like my fans are now condemning me Listen, I don't owe y'all sh*t Same Joe I am today is the same Joe y'all get Y'all will interrupt a ni**a while he at his place of worship And think that came along with your 20 dollar purchase You bought the music, not the ni**a that made it But let me touch up on that ni**a that made it If you're judging me on actions then I'll take that L every time If you conclude "Joe Budden is a corny mah'f**ker" Cause all it mean if I'm a corny mah'f**ker Is the greatest rapper ever's just a corny mah'f**ker My bad, I'm not as street as you But all this time I was being me, not being you I get behind that mic, let all my demons through Without knowing sh*t about the people that I'm speaking to Add that to me not seeing a reason to And that says a lot in a room full of silence, listen... At 21 I had a ** problem At 31 still *** is a problem But the thing about that pill is it made everything real And I felt I needed to see Funny thing about it all, I ain't like what I saw Now the Lord's voice is in my head like "You'll be DEAD soon for questioning me" Another lesson for me Far greater than whatever I profess it to be Cause if left to me, I'd put our eyes in our brains We'd over-think what we see and our whole lives would change But f**k it, that day had to come Who ever knew that I would have a son? I coulda guessed it, I was f**kin' like a rabbit But I never saw him handle scoliosis like his dad did Never knew me and Ronnie would talk again F**k a rhyme, I'm just happy that we talk again Who knew that the second I acknowledged you You would get terminally ill, be in the hospital The thought of you leaving is what f**ks with me I'm scared to death of getting full custody Ni**a, I look in the mirror disgustedly So how am I supposed to feel the day that he looks up to me? I always said you were the worst baby-mother I had ex-girl confused with baby-mother And there lies my problem with our Creator All the times I wanted her black a** dead, you wouldn't take her Don't do it now, I need her Understand, it don't get no realer See how I go to bed with thoughts of a damn killer But rather show y'all my girl through these Instagram filters Look at her, don't look at me Cause if y'all judging, y'all would throw the book at me Speakin' of shorty, nah, I'll do that in private It might be a little soon for me to let her know how I get Sh*t, and now we right back at one Real quick, let me get back to my son When a ni**a was like… He said "Dad, I'm weird… but I don't have a problem with that" And I was like… I laughed, and I was like "Well, number 1, why do you think you're weird And number 2, why don't you have a problem with that?" And he looked me in my eyes and he was like… "Well, I say I'm weird, number 1, because I know I'm weird And I don't have a problem with it because that's me And whoever don't like it, they don't have to be around me I'm comfortable with me and who I am" And right there, that was cold In my head I thought "That was bold" Illest sh*t about it all, said that at 10 years-old So I could die right now… I could die right now and feel like he got the most important part of Joe Or... better than that... I could die right now and feel like he know all he need to know Joey Royce, what up Last night we cried tears of joy This morning they were still there What's handicap without the wheelchair That's what we are, but f**k it... We'll be the sacrificial lamb for y'all niggas Hate it or love it... Leave all of that, b, f**k it... [Verse 3: Crooked I] Yeah, man I kinda feel where my ni**a was coming from, you know Both my niggas, you know Baby-mom was on WorldStar and sh*t You know, talkin' 'bout I don't take care of my junior Me and my ni**a straight though Yo, my little ni**a rap I just let it be, you know, cause people get their feelings hurt over other sh*t So I just let it go, you know, I ain't have no rebuttal But uh… when you grew up f**ked up Nobody's perfect, you know, but I'm perfect for this This rap sh*t, man… yeah Eastside Long Beach: Atlantic avenue and Hill Crooked was a youngster my ghetto attitude was real Dumper in the waist in case I had to shoot to kill Rocking dumb mics cause I had was stupid skill Eastsiders we cypher about a bus b**ch Some sippin’ toca vodka, others had the blunt pitched A lot of them niggas died, sweatshirt blood drenched Others went to jail, they hit a lick and left thumbprints Long beach I salute ya grind Even though you think you I sold out you not saluting mine I don’t come around much, I’m on music’s time Lost and found I found when I’m broke I lose my mind So I hustle like I’m on a hunger strike Without a doubt when I cuff a mic I leave a body count like the shotty’s out Cause I’m from a group called slaughter Rap better than everybody house Now they think I’m in the game and stuntin’ But I’m like an orgasm man, I came from nothing Some of you from the burbs but you claim you wasn’t So lame you struttin’, with a cain you frontin’ F**k all that, if I was born rich I would rhyme about it I was born poor in a ditch, I’m rhyming tryna climb up out it Tryna avoid a life of crime I’m ’bout it Some say I’ll be fine without it Death around the corner, prison breathing down my neck Chasing paper til a ni**a wheezing out of breath IRS wanna f**k me, I ain't even outta debt Said they Young Buck me , tryna squeeze me outta checks Yeah, them fools tryna squeeze me outta checks Don’t talk to dominic’s unless you pay ya mommas rent With m***a sent outta town, them dollars spent My own fam wanna grab the steel and harm me But I got the nuts to kill an army Word to Killa army, man all them killers adore me BET red carpet, the steel was on me To put a slug in my flesh and blood wouldn’t feel good Serena crip walking at the Olympics I’m still hood Still me, til my candle is blown So many secrets I only told to a glass of patron Half of my fathers family died of cancer alone He called me sick, I didn’t answer the phone How does it feel to know that your son doesn’t care Cause you wasn’t there, life wasn’t fair I look at steps in the wrong direction, another stare I swear, just the other muthaf**king night dawg Like niggas, niggas rolled in front of my studio on my kids life Nah’mean, I ran through the f**king studio to my office grabbed that 3.57 thang man Came out waving, I’m bout to bust, the police pass by My little brothers told me I needed to chill Nah’mean, this is what I do man, this is the life I live for real dawg This ain't no muthaf**kin’ rap music Just the other night I coulda killed a ni**a man Nah’mean, I wouldn’t be here rapping about this sh*t Think about it man [Verse 4: Joell Ortiz] My grandmom’s left me , father don’t exist Baby moms stress me, my momma got a cyst My older son love football and the little ni**a hands is mean But he chronic asthmatic so he fully suited on the sideline wishing he could be in there but still Cheering for his team My youngest son got nerve issues, sometimes he cry to me I’m looking at him like it’s not you fault You was conceived when daddy was such a slave to his everyday anxiety I worked at UPS for a week and my boss ain't have to fire me I wasn’t fit to lift boxes I quit Don’t put me in that box when I spit My life wasn’t too muthaf**king fly for me Wasn’t too muthaf**king fly for me From the lobby huffing and puffing running from robbery To Crooked I, Royce Da 5’9″, Joe Budden, homie from the Goodie Mob and me carving artistry Celebrating escaping poverty Ashy knees and no socks Chinese outta hocks but that was on the first, other than that Liver works and government sent me my yellow cheese in a box Ya’ll ain't have that yellow cheese in a box Last night I cried tears of joy But the other night I cried tears my boy No longer here I can’t hear his voice I guess upstairs they playing dealers choice Popped a pill with Joe I’m sippin’ clear with Royce Crook light a cigar ni**a My little homie just hit the pen Went in a young adult and coming out a senior citizen And them crackers just denied me F**k dawg I can’t even sneak a visit in I ain't hustlin’ no more if y’all listenin Ya’ll niggas only get the music man Ya’ll don't know what be going on with a ni**a day to day I mean sh*t I ain't complaining or nothing Like a ni**a stand on his own two and hold it down But it’s realer than you think ni**a You think I give a f**k about a rap list I just left my condo, hopped up in my car I’m on my way to f**k an actress I don’t need y’all to remind me bout my pen and pad gift ad-libs subtract your wack spit Multiply my visits to Chase divide mad chips among 3 other niggas Who spazz quick Nah ni**a this ain't no rap clique This is a muthaf**king takeover I want another Range Rover I got such a hangover celebrating the fact my mother became sober My uncle fading from that needle though Found out he fully blown a couple weeks ago My aunt tested negative but it’s the same result Cuz she gon die on the same day he stop breathing yo To know me ain't to love me Nah, to know me is to know me Cause you ain't got to like me but respect that I ain't phony Not a nominee for Tony’s or Oscars for my uh balony What you see is what you get Hope you getting what you see cause what you seeing is a threat Come at me with indirect’s, I ain't gon write a song about you I’mma knee you in your neck And then write a song about how I just beat you half to death Don’t play with my little niggas I’m just a grown a** man tryna feed my family through the talent God gave me Honestly I don’t care if you hate me But don’t f**k with my money Anything else I say will be dry snitching on myself, how dumb would that be House gang YAOWA!