Songtext Illmind interlude Slaughterhouse

Illmind interlude

If you can't stand the heat, better creep out the kitchen
This music so therapeutic it could be our religion
If I am my own problem, then I am my own solution
We building a glass house so you can see how we living
Hold up, turn the beat down and listen
I was predicted to be convicted, catching them beat downs in prison
By prison guards 'cause fuck authority figures, minority niggas be living hard
Tell me how to see out your vision when you limit ours
You're only want to see in the struggle but I got
Bands in my duffel, bands, bands in my duffel
Yeah, you can ask the slaughters, I don't mess with you rappers
Matter of fact our third album is a message to rappers
My nigga, we let you breathe
Now all of them accolades from ratchet bitches and faggots in this rapping business is over
It's back to the business of gangsta rapping that I'm mixing with this backpack, spitting
With a Rat Pack clique of niggas, you best believe
You pussy period, I bet you bleed
A fake nigga that listen to snakes nigga, I bet you Eve
Meanwhile I'm on my Django with my field niggas
Twelve years a slave, this industry tryna kill niggas
Even if they noose me, I die hanging with some real niggas
And all my nephews are in my will like Uncle Phil, nigga
I'm really cocky, but that's on the low like Makavelli's intro
When it sounded like somebody said, "Suge shot me"

I shot the shit with the niggas that shot shit up
Welcome to my hood, papi
Where every night's a movie but never a good copy
I sat on granny couch, amped about what I'm rambling 'bout
When the amp blew out I made beats with my hands and mouth
The man of the house so early
Little idle with the curly
Blow out, running behind the girlies
My nigga Jiggs nicknamed me Idle Boy, I do miss him so dearly
Just Blaze, I just blaze one up
Boy, I'm headed up to mobile Monday, I hope you 45's ain't dirty
Don't need them bitches skipping
I know I'm skipping around but fuck it
'Cause I could still bust it with random thoughts, you gotta love it
Hey Crook, you my brother
Royce, you my brother
Joe, you my brother
4 different fathers, 4 different mothers
But raised by the culture
You bet we were hanging the same poster
Staring at Lil Kim with her legs open
Rewinding the Nas verse, blasting some Hov
Dancing to Biggie, tripping off Canibus flow
Don't act like Cano wasn't a savage, you know
But back then my squad, everyone rapping is pro
Yeah, Marshall Mathers my bro, hey, Catfish it's a go
The magic of 2.0, just getting started
I'm confused 'cause this healthy mindset made our album retarded
I'm just playing with words, yeah, they pay me for that
The stages of rap, ask these promoters, these places is packed
Just killing time till that album drop
Slow it down, I dissed you
I said its killing time when that album drop