[Intro: Crooked I & Royce Da 5'9"]
What the fuck you talking 'bout?
(You ain't in my lane, n***a)
This is Slaughterhouse
(Me and you ain't the same, n***a)

[Verse 1: Crooked I]
Why you think your bitch on my dick?
'Cause I'm a paid n***a
Made n***a deep in her pussy like a grave digger
I'm so high that I can chill on the roof
Pop an Oxycontin pill in the booth, give 'em the truth
Tell the world them lyrical killers still on the loose
If I make the crowd bounce my n***a Eminem'll recoup
That's why the rhymes Crooked I spit is making a mosh pit
Fly shit, sicker than hospice, takin' 'em hostage
Yeah, we don't party like you n***as do
We don't party like them n***as do
4 a.m. 20 groupies on the tour bus
On a coke high, waitin' to fuck the 4 of us
Nah, we don't party like you n***as do
Nah, we don't party like you n***as do
Put some blue dolphins off in a rocket
I'm 'bout to blast off, now I'm feelin' proper
We don't party like you n***as do
We don't party like you n***as do
[Bridge: Royce Da 5'9"]
Wadadadang wadadadadang (blao) (x2)

[Verse 2: Royce Da 5'9]
Fuck you nerds doing everything cause Jay Z done said it
Fuck you and your new urge to be a fake sneaker head
Fuck you and your ball game floor seats
If you just there with a broad, neither one of y'all ain't score keep
'Prolly thought LeBron was a corner back
Heat game, wearing Grape 5's and a Hornets hat (fuck you)
Fuck you and your leather jerseys and hairy arms
N***as bald then they get big headed like Barry Bonds
Fuck you and the crowd that you perform in front of
Like you was born a stunna, your money reformed a runner
Your Instagram got bitches saying "I heard he's rich"
So you just fucked your first bad bitch at 36
That's what I call fake felt, never saw a weight scale
Shirt tucked in in front, showin' off your H belt
This one of them moments where your money ain't the issue
I can call you corny cause corny n***as get rich too
Still a sucker, corny n***as get rich too
We don't party like you n***as do

[Bridge: Royce Da 5'9"]

[Verse 3: Joell Ortiz]
Man fuck you fuckboys, you boys fuckin' with the wrong one
Fuck your fake high, don't give a fuck if you're on one
Fuck that broad you're fuckin', that pussy prolly smell cray
Fuck, you ain't a G, who give a fuck what your belt say?
Fuck you and your section and your bottles and your sparklers
And your shades that look like night vision goggles, fuck you
Knock off, enough with all the narcotics you knock off
The hood jump off the only time you get your rocks off
Snapple fact you never pop off, your block's soft
Man I'll knock everybody on your block's block off
You fake gat clapper, mad actor
I'm backwards, watch how this pump give you mad asthma
Put your punk story in it's last chapter
I fucked the pumps off a diva, you a Kat Stack'r
No party's like a house party, yeah
You know a shorty's sleepin' on that couch, prolly dead
That's what we get into, why even knock? You'll never get into
A house party, we don't party like you n***as do
[Bridge: Royce Da 5'9"]

[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
I know a couple new n***as tried to start this
Lemme help you out dawg, trickin' is still trickin' regardless
We not in the same, you funny to us
I use my mouth for my G, you need your money to fuck
You do a lot of that talkin', I'm done when I bust
Take community pussy and be the dummy to cuff
It's like everything you do with the opposite sex
Is the opposite of correct, we ain't gotta give you respect
So whoever raised you ain't practiced for real
Type to buy a bitch a phone, be all checkin' the bill
I've seen your type, corndog, wack as a fuck
Type to pass your man a ho, then get mad when he fuck
Like you do all the shit that a real n***a don't
All that shit that a real n***a won't
Since I don't know if this sucka shit is contagious
You the n***a we see and run
No you ain't getting no bitches, you busy being one
And one last thing for the record 'fore I get out of here
We don't party like you n***as do