Microphone Slaughterhouse

[Intro: Royce da 5'9", Sample]
The mic, the microphone (Yeah)
The mic, the microphone (Yeah)
The mic, the microphone
The mic, the microphone

[Verse 1: Royce da 5'9"]
Too many Indians and no Chiefs
I pull out the pistol when I pre-mote peace
I'm the blueprint, I have your clothes
Lookin' like they was designed by bullet holes and shoe prints
When I bless a joint, it's like Spock
Came up in the spot and grabbed the beat by the pressure point
I got the Vulcan touch, I tell my bitch I'ma
Give up drinkin' when she give her emotions up
Too many enemies and no killers
Too many that hate snitchin' but know squealers
I get stacks (Stacks)
I blam hard with the click-clack, with that Antarctica wrist-wrap
I spit crack for y'all niggas to get dope
Y'all gotta wait for the Transporter to get back
So who's the illest? What you talkin' 'bout?
Die Hard like you Bruce or Willis when I shoot to kill it
Too many hood guys, not enough good guys
The way you say pussy in plural is pus-sy