Stay Updated

    Like us on Facebook

Translate

You can translate the lyrics into various languages.



Song Title

Slaughterhouse - Truth Or Truth Lyrics

Play this song

Editor's comments:
Crooked I, Joe Budden, Joell Ortiz, and Royce da 5’9” aka Slaughterhouse take turns in spitting rhymes over the instrumental os Rick Ross’ “Tears of Joy”.
The song is titled "Truth Or Truth" and is hosted by DJ Drama.

Slaughterhouse – Truth Or Truth Lyrics

[Verse 1: Royce Da 5’9″]
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 shit I ever wrote
Shoutout to all the crazy bitches I’ve been involved with
Thank y’all for making my wife a crazier bitch than y’all bitches
Y’all might’ve lost me, but y’all win
And this will be the realest shit 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 fuck do I fit in?
And this will be the realest shit 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 answers, “Well
Fuck 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 fuck! Let me tell you this:
When was the last time you cop some shit where it actually came out of your pocket?
Answer that!
If I gotta answer questions from you
You gotta answer questions from me!
“I’m fucking my whole life up for you?” Answer this question:
“What the fuck are you doing for me?” Answer that!
Still I love my fans, even though you all looking me like I’m just this drunk nigga
That’s just throwing up behind shit, blowing up, but nigga I ain’t throwing up shit but my hands
And this is just me growing up
Courtney Artesia, Kino and Fish, 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]
Wattup Royce, you inspire me
And I picked you for the record
I mean, I’m no longer fuckin’ amused
I mean I addressed this shit on “Cut You Loose”
How long am I supposed to stick around for this fuckin’ abuse?
Every time I go to leave, I figure “fuck is the use?”
I endure it for the true fans that covered that new
Or is that just another fuckin’ 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 nigga treasure anonymity
Nigga 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 shit
Same Joe I am today is the same Joe y’all get
Y’all will interrupt a nigga while he at his place of worship
And think that came along with your 20 dollar purchase
You bought the music, not the nigga that made it
But let me touch up on that nigga 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 mu’fucker”
Cause all it mean if I’m a corny mu’fucker
Is the greatest rapper ever’s just a corny mu’fucker
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 shit 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 drug problem
At 31 still drugs 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 fuck it, that day had to come
Who ever knew that I would have a son?
I coulda guessed it, I was fuckin’ like a rabbit
But I never saw him handle scoliosis like his dad did
Never knew me and Ronnie would talk again
Fuck 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 fucks with me
I’m scared to death of getting full custody
Nigga, I look in the mirror disgustingly
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 ass 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
Shit, and now we right back at one
Real quick, let me get back to my son
When a nigga was like
He said “Dad, I’m weird… but I don’t have a problem with that”
And I was like haha… 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 shit 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 fuck it
We’ll be the sacrificial lamb for y’all niggas
Hate it or love it
Leave all of that, b, fuck it

[Verse 3: Crooked I]
Yeah man, I kinda feel where my nigga was coming from
Both my niggas
You know
Baby moms was on Worldstar n shit
Ya know, talk about I take care of my junior
Me and my niggas straight though
Yo, my little nigga rap
I just let it be ya know cause people get their feelings hurt over other shit so
I just let it go you know
I aint have no rebuttal
But err, when you grew up fucked up
Nobody’s perfect ya’know
But I’m perfect for this
This rap shit man

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 bitch
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’, the cain you frontin’
Fuck 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 avoud a life of crime I’m ’bout
Some say I’ll be fine without it
But I kinda doubt it
Death around the corner, prison breathing down my neck
Chasing paper til a nigga wheezing out of breath
IRS wanna fuck me, I aint 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 marijuana 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
Yeah muthafucka yeah

I swear, just the other muthafucking night dawg
Like niggas, niggas rolled in front of my studio on my kids life
Nah’mean, I ran through the fucking 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 aint no muthafuckin’ rap music
Just the other night I coulda killed a nigga man
Nah’mean, I wouldn’t be here rapping about this shit
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 nigga 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 nervous, 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 aint 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 muthafucking fly for me
Wasn’t too muthafucking fly for me
From the lobby huffing and puffing running from robberies
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 yellow cheese in box
Ya’ll aint 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 nigga
My little homie just hit the pen
Went in a younger dodi, came out a senior citizen
And them crackers just denied me
Fuck dawg I can’t even sneak a visit in
I aint hustlin’ no more if y’all listening
Ya’ll niggas only get the music man
Ya’ll know what be going on with a nigga day to day
I mean shit I aint complaining or nothing
Like a nigga stand on his own two and hold it down
But it’s realer than you think nigga
You think I give a fuck about a rap list
I just left my condo, hopped up in my car I’m on my way to fuck an actress
I don’t need y’all to remind me bout my pen and pad gift
And how my ad-libs subtract your wack spit
Multiply my visits to chase divide my among 4 other niggas
who spazz quick
Nah nigga this aint no rap clique
This is a muthafucking takeover
I want another Range Rover
I got such a hangover celebrating the fact my mother become 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
But she gon die on the same day he stop breathing yo
To know me aint to love me
Nah, to know me is to know me
Cause you aint got to like me but respect that I aint phony
Not a nominee for Yony’s or Oscars for my uh balony
Wat 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 aint gon write a song about you
I’mma knee you in your neck
And write a song about how I just beat ya to death
Don’t play with my little niggas
I’m just a grown ass man tryna feed my family through the talent God gave me
Honestly I don’t care if you hate me
But don’t fuck with my money
Anything else I say will be dry snitching on myself, how dumb would that be
House gang
YAOWA!!!

[Lyrics to Truth Or Truth performed by Slaughterhouse]


How do you rate these lyrics and song?
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (No Ratings Yet)



If you enjoyed these lyrics, please share them

Correct these Lyrics (if needed)


Listen To The Music Videos Of These Lyrics:

Loading...

Comment on this page. Discuss song meanings here, state your opinion and share it with others,
or maybe even write a review in your own words.


+ 3 = 8


Your opinion is very important. Thank you!   Please Register or Login to remove the security check.