conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Loud Noises with the following description: This track marked the third time Eminem collaborated with Slaughterhouse, the hip-hop supergroup consisting of Crooked I, Joe Budden, Joell Ortiz, and Eminem’s ‘Bad Meets Evil’ partner, Bad himself, Royce Da 5'9". The first time was on Session One, a year prior. The second time being on 2.0 Boys, alongside Yelawolf in early 2011, before this record. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro]
  Loud noises!
  [Verse 1: Eminem]
  Life handed me lemons, I jumped back in the public eye
  And squirted lemon juice in it, by now, you just wish I’d fuckin’ die
  But I electrify, get electrocuted, executed by the execution
  Of my flow, too quick for the human eye to detect zoomin’ by
  Choom-chigga-choom-choom-choom-choom waa
  Yep, yep—guess who, what’s happenin’, guy?
  They told me to shit, I fell off that pot
  Hopped right back on that crapper and I
  Said, “Fuck it,” with a capital I, look who’s back to antag-g-onize
  You don’t like it? You can eat shit, fuck off, little faggot, and die
  You right back like a magnet on my dick grabbin’ at my
  Shit, better get to the back of the line
  If you wanna get your shot at me, what kinda crap is that battle?
  What kind of rapper would I be
  'Fore I let another rapper think he’s hot?
  I'll bury my face in his stinky twat and go (*Licking*)
  Girl, my head space is limited
  Ain’t even room in the back of my mind
  That’s why I ain’t thinking about you, I don’t got time
  I done told you a thousand times
  So how can I find the time to put
  An alkaline battery in Royce’s back
  And at the same time put juice in mine?
  Goddammit, Slaughterhouse is signed! [Refrain: Crooked I]
  Slaughterhouse!
  [Verse 2: 
  Crooked I
  ]
  I’m a menace villain, my pen is sick and spillin’, my lyrics killin’
  Then I let you witness shit when it hit the ceilin’
  A nigga’s willin’ to give the listeners the sickest feelin’
  Like mixin’ some Benadryl and penicillin, then I’m fillin’ the clip
  With a written (Pow!), can you picture my pistol drillin’?
  A million women and children when I’m illin’ but it isn’t real
  It’s a rap, on the real, it’s a wrap, how could you possibly
  Stop the Apocalypse when I’m atomic bombin’ the populace?
  Shock the metropolis, hostile as a kid
  Poppin’ the Glock at his mom’s and his pop’s
  Then he hops in his drop with his iPod
  Rockin’ his slaughter-ish documentation of lyrics
  I write with confidence, write like a columnist-slash-novelist
  I’m in this game to demolish it
  Establish my dominance over prominent rappers
  You poppin’ shit ’til ya opposite, I can spit ominous so spit politics
  Now I’m Haile Selassie, Gandhi and Pac
  Of this hip hop genre, bitch!
  [Refrain: Crooked I]
  Slaughterhouse! [Verse 3: Royce da 5’9”]
  Lyrically, I’m a cocaine Altoid (Dope)
  Ability so brain, it’s a no brain bow, boy (Fresh)
  Physically, I’m literally a cocaine cowboy
  Wait-wait, did I just go almost four bars
  Without talking about my big dick?
  The other day me and your thick bitch
  Had a great date and we ate cake
  And then we walked and then she tried to jack me off but she lost
  ’Cause she couldn’t handle my Shake Weight
  I swear, the irony of Ryan is I am bipolar while I’m rhyming
  Standing beside a big ol’, (Big ol’) white bear
  Neither one of us fight fair
  You are literally looking at Woody and Wesley
  In a movie where the white boy ain’t got to jump
  Nowhere ’cause I’m here
  Nigga I’m on fire, yeah and I’m every bitch’s dream
  One, two I’m coming for you, I’m a big ol’, (Big ol’) nightmare
  Nigga, this the slaughter, step it up
  I’ll pretty much slap your ass and tell you to shut the fuck up
  After that, I’ll slap your ass again
  And tell you to shut the fuck up shutting up
  And that’s how you body a fucking beat (Goodbye)
  [Refrain: Crooked I]
  Slaughterhouse! [Verse 4: Joell Ortiz]
  Uh, I should be the one that goes slow
  Nah, get a stopwatch, clock my flow, hit the button on top
  Watch your jaw drop, oh-oh, dot-dot, oh, Yaowa
  When I drop, I go outer space
  Blackout like Darth Vader’s face placed in a molten shower
  Say something and get done proper
  Mama, Poppa pouring out vodka, mama mia
  Em, pass me the scissors
  There’s visitors in the Slaughterhouse casa
  Better jet, boy, go home, better jet, boy, G4 Chrome
  Better jet, boy, Mark Sanchez, Santonio Holmes
  I’m not your any old homeboy
  Sitting in the lab picking up a pad, I be spitting bad
  I’mma get you mad with this gift I have
  Little ducks sufferin’ succotash when the trigger blast
  I’ma put your beak on your fitted hat
  Where the liquor at? Sip a yac bad bitch and a vicious track
  I relididax slide Pro-Dools to both
  So smooth I coast to the West like where Crooked living at?
  New York, here’s a piggy back ride
  To the motherland, hold on, brother man
  On the other hand, get down, I’m gutter, fam
  Gun butt you with the Eagle handle Cunningham
  I don’t wanna talk, I just wanna beef, I don’t want a piece
  I want it all, baby boy, I don’t wanna eat, I wanna feast
  Stuff my cheeks with rough beats and shit
  You done, weak, I’m the one, capisce?
  [Refrain: Crooked I]
  Slaughterhouse!
  [Verse 5: 
  Joe Budden
  ]
  Uh, insane what they call us, how you married to the game
  But you probably shouldn’t have came to the altar
  Every bar like propane for the sawed-off
  You shoulda hang and they’ll fault ya
  Eminem, Mr. Porter, slaughter my sentiments, eminent torture
  All of you feminine marauders
  They’re swimming that water, men will assault ya
  Tommy’s and bats to resemble Lasorda
  Kidnap your trembling daughter
  At least a quarter, I’m a menacing supporter
  It’s got an aura more like Sodom and Gomorrah
  Normally, something’s wrong with me
  Blame it on quantity of the porn I see on the pawns to me
  When I fix the game, y’all think shit came with a warranty
  How the fuck are they gonna stop what I was born to be?
  Corner me, shit belong to me
  Two choices, you can get along with me
  Or sit your faggot ass right there in dormancy
  Wait, all he missing is heels to be RuPaul
  Ain’t nobody that’s real ever knew y’all
  And I’m second to none and I’m dealing with bums
  Whose time'll never come, now deal with the blue balls
  You ain’t gotta fear me but you respect me
  Niggas who never met me threaten me, want to Gillette me
  Comin’ to a sword fight against a machete
  Swinging spaghetti like it’s heavy
  Some said he deserve an ESPY, in a Chevy like Andretti
  Put the desi where his chest be
  [Outro: Crooked I]
  Slaughterhouse!