[Intro: Joell Ortiz]
Hold up, hold up, le—lemme start it y'all
DatPiff.com Premiere
Haha, yeah

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]
Yeah, n***as the gang's back again (woo)
Royce giving his beard a scratch again
Crooked lit a Cuban, Joe acting like he tweetin'
But he do that once the track begin (uh-huh)
I'm just nibbling on this plastic pen (Slaughter)
This sounding like the beginning of a tape (yeah)
Usually yellow, you yellow bellies can pick a fake (uh)
We ain't have to go soft to get this cake
I watched n***as skate for figures
Throw away rollerblades for figure skates (ew)
I'm just a rough New Yorker fuckin' bitches
That only listen to Drake
Every night's dinner date, hater get a plate (bon appétit)
I tell shorties pick a steak, but make sure it's to go (why?)
In case I want to stop eating to fuck your face (Hahaha!)
Mouth full, give me mouth drool, oh, is it Throwback Thurs'?
You want that back blown out? Cool (cool)
But you ain't 'bout to, just B.o.B sittin' on that couch, boo (nah)
That ain't how it go, you know the House Rules
[Chorus: Crooked I, Joell Ortiz, Royce Da 5'9" & Joe Budden]
Uh, no phones inside the telly
Pics inside the celly, baby
You know the house rules
Yeah, respect over a dollar (word)
Death before dishonor, partner
You know the house rules
Uh, if I'm up you can't be down
And I'm down to tear shit up for you
Homie, you know the house rules
Yeah, all bitches with flat stomachs
No cars under a hundred, my n***a
You know the House Rules

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
I’m high, chillin' with Bruno on Mars
Crooked’s verses put ‘em in hearses, call 'em funeral bars
But these funeral bars, they bought me the beautiful cars
Like a celebrity photographer, I shoot for the stars
I’m just grindin' with my clique 'til we close to the La Cosa Nostra
Lookin’ over my shoulder with a toaster and a shoulder holster
'Cause n***as wanna approach ya
Get close, they could hope to smoke ya
When a vulture pose as ya folks it's an emotional roller coaster
Ya friends became foes, everything backwards
Pimps became hoes, you know how the game goes
Fuck it, one less n***a to split the pie up
As long as I triumph, you fake fucks can dry-hump
Success is the mission before the mortician
Fill me with embalming fluid, I promise that I gotta do it
I took some street money, then I added some commas to it
To cover my ass like Obamacare and the trauma unit, G
[Verse 3: Royce Da 5'9]
Oh, what you thought?
You thought I wasn't loaded up, huh?
You thought I left my last hot line
Floatin' in a puddle of vomit before I sobered up, huh?
I hope you know you n***as sound mad
And it's goin' down fast with no signs of slowin' up, huh?
It’s blood, sweat and tears, I shed blood, sweat tears
So wipe the sweat; I confess, I insane rap!
I went away at the height of my success
And now the gang back like biker vests
I’m Bogarting the so called un-bogartable
Turning yo artist to post-modern flow particles
Far as the streets go we got our fingers on the pulse of this
With no cardio, believe me
We slidin' all over this chess board
Like we playin' a lil' ouija with no Mario, this shit is easy
We blowin' our budget, we’ll battle you, fuck it
Our attitude’s fuck it, that’s why the song about nothin'
What you thought?!
It’s House Rules, fuck it, crime rules is in your face
Wet your Gucci with the Nine tool, you try to win this race
Hawk a loogie on ya Louis V and Louboutin shoe
Until we see the baton move, how you gon' defend ya fate?
And then send you astray, make you late continuous
It’s a win-win for us like you askin' us a question continuously
You can’t contend with us, one of us like ten of us
Crew is covered and it’s the government, gunners is like senators
Huh!
[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
I'm in all black like I just got a funeral call
Stand up guy that was rumored to fall
Before the goons get involved
If it's a problem, hope it's soon to be solved
N***a, done did so many drugs that I'm immune to 'em all
Whole state is on my back, can't waver from the facts
Drop some money on your head, I'm just playing with the racks
But in case he wanna act, don't, fruit of the loom now
Get evasive with that, bunch of grapes on a strap
That'll do whatever Joe says in Tropez
With a bird that look like Selena Gomez, a younger Felipe Lopez
Free agents wanna get down, that's on the back page
Whole team got one in the chamber, where's the cap space?
Vixen in the bed with another on the dial
A know the Wi-Fi was great, shorty buffered for a while
It's Joe, speeding off with the tail pipe smokin'
And fuck rules they was made to be broken
The house is back open

[Chorus: Crooked I, Joell Ortiz, Royce Da 5'9" & Joe Budden]
Uh, no phones inside the telly
Pics inside the celly, baby
You know the house rules
Yeah, respect over a dollar (word)
Death before dishonor, partner
You know the house rules
Uh, if I'm up you can't be down
And I'm down to tear shit up for you, homie
You know the house rules
Yeah, all bitches with flat stomachs
No cars under a hundred, my n***a
You know the House Rules