Joe Budden - BET Shady 2.0 Cypher lyrics

[Intro: Eminem] Welcome to Detroit This is the BET, Shady 2.0 Cypher 2011 Myself, Slaughterhouse and Yelawolf White Dawg, get 'em! (Thank you, cracker) [Verse 1: Yelawolf] Put these mothaf**as in a box and I send 'em away Put 'em in a gray 'llac and pop the trunk And throw 'em in the back, jack; ha, dig 'em a grave Put a brick inside that Xerox when I print up a page Moving keys I can relate, cause I live in the 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 Z's, they sleeping 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 making 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, "f** 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 putting Nikes on a cheetah Better speed up Or at least in my case Adidas I'm out this b**h, drinking Sprite by the two-liter Holler! Shady Records… [Verse 2: Joe Budden] Say I'm from the new school I'ma say, "check your tone and watch your mouth" If they teaching how to Dougie, I'm condoning dropping 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 copping it The radio's the crime scene, the ma**es are the hostages In my youth I'd throw shots, the fad was dodging it I'm grown, I ain't watching the throne, I'm sabotaging 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 co*king 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's 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 Benihanas 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, gla** jaw Hood of your mask will be the Blackfoot with no pa**port Body be found in a mansion in one of my trapdoors If punks had award you status who*es categore Probably be that of awards Between Michael Rappaport and Kenny Lattimore I know hip-hop's alive and well If it died, you other crews wouldn't survive the smell [Verse 3: Crooked I] I spot a victim The plot'll thicken when the clock is ticking I caught him slipping I gotta give him a shot I hit him With proper spitting, hottest writtens and compositions So competition's a contradiction Somebody mention they got a Crooked, highly fiction We probly different, got Gotti henchmen Opposition, I'll body quick as Bugatti engines I'm on a mission to get richer, the sickest lyric-kicker Digging 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 going postal even Open season, heart close to freezing Ruthless as Eazy, n***a, approach, I'm squeezing Believe me, dopest Westcoaster breathing So most y'all hope I'm vegan; nope, I'm beefing Rappers need to keep it trill, give me a beat to k** Too many people still eating sleeping pills People sleeping on my ether sk**s 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 [Verse 4: Joell Ortiz] I ain't a rap dude, I'm a dude who rap Before this I was moving crack k**ers 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 a** shoot It means your booty claps Don't play like Tyler Perry This the Slaughterhouse of pain, flow brown, tight and heavy When it come to 16's, I'm a fiend Seen in the studio near a needle with a mean lean Probably writing bars to Nas' Thief's Theme Getting my Yaowa on Man, all these Olajuwons, we the dream team This is an all day slaughter They fiending for us to break, like Beyonce's water The four quarters doing all the eating And y'all gotta know why I made the cut, I'm Puerto Rican Ortiz keep the fire ready; and trying to put me out Is like trying to steal a transvestite from Eddie [Verse 5: Royce Da 5'9"] I'm do or die dope And you can make the sticker sitting on the door of that Phantom your suicide note Hi, Rihanna...is Nicki living 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 nothing bout Budden, I beat my girl too You ask 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 k**, but your father will, like Jayden Smith I tell you like I tell my Spanish chick You fly, but I ain't going down on no landing 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 headshot him Smack his girl on the bu*t and buy her some red bottom Bring every deceased rapper back to see his wife While I'm cyber-s**ing 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 is what two million singles sold And an album that's gold Look like without having to sell your soul Nickel [Verse 6: Eminem] 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, 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 p**n Can that chick fit a newborn dead baby inside a fricking 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 getting elbows to the penis Yeah, big deal I took some little kid's Big Wheel and spit in his frickin' big kids meal Quit tryin' to 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 Flipping the script up Like Mike Vick getting bit in his junk by a Pit, yup, I'm a sick pup I'd be a horrible magician, cause I'd f** a trick up Fix your lips up to say something fly, or zip up Aye, B, let's see: you said you were gonna do X-Y-Z 'Til you f** 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 b**h, 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 flossing a middle finger while I hop in a mosh pit'll be like Nas doing gospel or R&B You crazy? Me pushing up daisies, that thought is impossible As if flashing across the news Posdnuos was caught with a prostitute With a huge johnson, b**bs and a monstrous tube of lube And a bra, some boots Some panties and an aqua blue Mazda Swallowing a popsicle, playing tonsil pull So k** the rumors, it ain't happening I'ma rap 'til I'm fossil fuel