[Intro: Joell Ortiz]

Hold up, hold up, le—lemme start it y'all

DatPiff.com Premiere

Haha, yeah

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]

Yeah, niggas 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 niggas 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 nigga

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 niggas 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 nigga 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 niggas 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

Nigga, 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 nigga

You know the House Rules