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Producer:illadaproducer/Ronny J/Eminem |
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I'm just gonna write down |
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My first thoughts and see where this takes me |
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Cause I feel like I wanna punch the world in the f**kin' face right now |
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Let me explain just how to make greatness |
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Straight out the gate I'm 'bout to break you down |
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Ain't no mistakes allowed but make no mistake I'm 'bout |
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To rape the alphabet I may raise some brows |
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If I press the issue just to get the anger out |
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Full magazine could take staples out |
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Savage but ain't thinking 'bout no bank account |
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But b**ch I'm off the chain like Taylor Brown |
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Motherf**ker shut the f**k up when I'm talkin' lil' b**ch |
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I'm sorry wait what's your talent |
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Oh critiquin' |
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My talent |
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Oh b**ch I don't know who the f**k y'all are |
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To give a sub-par bar |
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Even have an opinion if you you mention me |
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Millions of views attention the news |
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I mention you lose lose for me win win for you |
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Billions of views your ten cents are two |
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Skim through the music to give a sh*t reviews |
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To get clicks but b**ch you just lit the fuse |
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Don't get misconstrued business as us |
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Sh*t-list renewed so get sh*t to do |
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Or get dissed |
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'Cause I don't get what the f**k half the sh*t |
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Is that you're listening to |
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Do you have any idea how much I hate this choppy flow |
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Everyone copies though probably no |
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Get this f**kin' audio out my audio adios |
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I can see why people like Lil Yachty but not me though |
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Not even dissin' it just ain't for me |
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All I am simply is just an emcee |
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Maybe 'Stan' just isn't your cup of tea |
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Maybe your cup's full of syrup and lean |
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Maybe I need to stir up sh*t preferably shake the world up |
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If it were up to me |
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Paul wants me to chill y'all want me to ill |
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I should eat a pill probably I will |
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Old me kill the new me watch him bleed to death |
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I breathe on the mirror I don't see my breath |
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Possibly I'm dead I must be possessed |
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Like an evil spell I'm E-V-I-L evil but spelled |
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Jam a Crest white strip in the tip of my d**k with an ice pick |
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Stick it in a vice grip hang it on a spike fence |
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Bang it like a pipe bench |
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While I take my ballsack and flick it like a light switch |
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Like vice-president Mike Pence |
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Back up on my sh*t in a sidekick |
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As I lay it on a spike strip |
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This are things that I'd rather do than hear you on a mic |
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Since nine tenths of your rhyme is about ice and |
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Jesus Christ man how many times is |
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Someone gonna f**k on my b**ch |
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F**k my side c**ck |
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You will never see M icy but as cold as I get on the MIC |
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I polarize sh*t so the Thames might freeze |
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And your skull might split like I bashed you upside it |
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B**ch I got the club on smash like a nightstick yeah |
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Turn down for what I ain't loud enough |
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Nah turn the volume up |
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'Cause I don't know how I'm gonna get your mouths to shut now |
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When it doesn't matter what caliber I spit at |
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I'll bet a hundred thousand bucks |
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You'll just turn around and just be like |
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Man how the f**k sourpuss gonna get mad just |
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'Cause his album sucks |
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And now he wants to take it out on us |
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But last week an ex-fan mailed me a copy of the Mathers LP to tell me to study |
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It'll help me get back to myself and she'll love me |
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I mailed the b**ch back and said if I did that |
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I'd just be like everyone else in the f**king industry |
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Especially an effing recovery clone of me |
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So finger-bang chicken wang educate Iggy 'zae |
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Lil Pump Lil Xan imitate Lil Wayne |
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I should aim at everybody in the game pick a name |
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I'm fed up with being humble |
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And rumor is I'm hungry |
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I'm sure you heard bumblings |
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I heard you wanna rumble like an empty stomach |
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I heard your mumbling but it's jumbled in mumbo-jumbo |
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The era that I'm from will pummel you |
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That's what it's comin' to |
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What the f**k are you gonna do where you runnin' to |
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I'm gonna crumble you and I'll take a number two |
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And dump on you if you ain't Joyner |
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If you ain't Kendrick or Cole |
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Or Sean then you're a goner |
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I'm 'bout to bring it to anyone in this b**ch who want it |
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I guess when you walk into BK you expect a whopper |
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You can order a quarter pounder when you go to McDonald's |
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But if you're lookin' to get a porterhouse you better go get Revival |
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But y'all are acting like I tried to serve you up a slider |
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Maybe the vocals should have been auto-tuned and you would have bought it |
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But sayin' I no longer got it |
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'Cause you missed the line and never caught it |
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'Cause it went over your head because you're too stupid to get it |
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'Cause you're mentally retarded but pretend to be the smartest |
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With your expertise and knowledge but you'll never be an artist |
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And I'm harder on myself than you could ever be regardless |
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What I'll never be is flawless all I'll ever be is honest |
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Even when I'm gone they're gonna say I brought it |
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Even when I hit my forties like a f**kin' alcoholic |
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With a bottle full of malt liquor |
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But I couldn't bottle this sh*t any longer |
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The fact that I know that I'ma hit my bottom if I don't |
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Pull myself from the jaws of defeat |
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And rise to my feet |
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I don't see why y'all even started with me |
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I get impeached |
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My enemies die |
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I don't ceasefire 'til at least all are deceased |
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I'm eastside never be caught slippin' |
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Now you see why I don't sleep |
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Not even a wink I don't blink |
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I don't doze off I don't even nod to the beats |
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I don't even close my f**kin' eyes when I sneeze |
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Aw man |
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That BET cypher was weak it was garbage the thing ain't even orange |
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Oh my God that's a reach |
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Shout to all my colorblind people |
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Each and every one of y'all |
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If you call a fire engine green aquamarine |
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Or you think water is pink |
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Dawg that's a date |
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Looks like an olive to me |
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Look there's an apple |
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No it's not it's a peach |
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So finger-bang Pootie Tang Burger King Gucci Gang |
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Charlamagne gonna hate anyway |
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Doesn't matter what I say |
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Give me Donkey of the Day |
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What a way for 2018 to get underway |
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But I'm gonna say everything that I wanna say |
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Welcome to the slaughterhouse b**ch yeah |
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Invite them in like a one a day |
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I'm not done |
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'Cause I feel like the beast of burden |
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That line in the sand was it even worth it |
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'Cause the way I see people turnin' |
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Is makin' it seem worthless |
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It's startin' to defeat the purpose |
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I'm watchin' my fan base shrink to thirds |
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And I was just trying to do the right thing but word |
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Has the court of public opinion wreaks the verdict |
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I'm still yet to be determined |
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'Cause I'm determined to be me critique the worship |
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But if I could go back I'd at least reword it |
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And say I empathize with the people |
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This evil serpent sold the dream to that he's deserted |
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But I think it's workin' |
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These verses are makin' him a wee bit nervous |
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And he's too scared to answer me with words |
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'Cause he knows that he will lyrically get murdered |
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But I know at least he's heard it |
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'Cause Agent Orange just sent the Secret Service |
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To meet in person |
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To see if I really think of hurtin' him |
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Or ask if I'm linked to terrorists |
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I said only when it comes to ink and lyricists |
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But my beef is more media journalists |
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Hold up hold up hold up |
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I said my beef is more media journalists |
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They can get a mouthful of flesh |
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And yes I mean eating a penis |
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'Cause they been panning my album to death |
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So I been giving the media fingers |
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Don't wanna turn this to a counselling sesh |
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But they been puttin' me through the ringer |
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So I ain't ironin' sh*t out with the press |
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But I just took this beat to the cleaners |