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[ti:eminem-right-for-me{mp3freex} (1)] |
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[la:EN] |
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[re:LRCgenerator.com] |
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[ve:3.00] |
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I feel phenomenal as usual |
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Pharmaceuticals, glue sniffin' pools of vomit at Bonnaroo |
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But I don't know if I'm in Tennessee, Chicago, or Houston |
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In the corner tryin' to seek solitude |
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Shallow but such a hollow dude |
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I won't even swallow solid food |
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Alcoholic too, plus I'm on lean like the Tower of Pisa |
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Top it off I'm on mushrooms so fuck all of you |
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Roses are violet, mollies are blue |
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Lost in a ball of confusion |
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Its all an illusion |
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It's probably the shrooms I'm on |
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Cause I think I started hallucinating |
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Cause I just thought I heard Jay Electronica and Odd Future's new shit |
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And all I could do was follow the music |
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And end up with Paula Abdul at Lollapalooza |
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Fillin' water balloons with nail polish remover |
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Just to pop in a wallow in fumes |
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I feel uptight I gotta get looser |
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After I finish polishing off this bottle of booze I got a solution |
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Concentrated like orange juice so I'm not as deluded |
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Cause all this delusion got me seein' shit |
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Excusez-moi but that hoochie that passed |
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You see her ass? Wouldn't make her my main squeeze |
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Butt juicier, ass it belongs in a juicer |
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It's mouth waterin' too so I walked over to her like a Marshall |
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Wanna try to meet my standards? I'll introduce ya" |
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Oh I'm a misogynist too but I'm not a masseuse |
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But my attitude is rubbin' off on the youth |
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Chronic abuser, and I don't mean a user of marijuana |
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I mean verbal assault that I use to smoke all of you losers |
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Got a bazooka, a shotgun, a ruger, a Glock, and a nuke |
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And a Rottweiler too, and I'm not in the mood so |
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When I say I'm bringing the TEC out |
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I'm not coming to repair your fuckin' electronic computers |
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God, I'm gonna puke |
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I'm so gone off the hookah |
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I think I swallowed a loofah |
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I'm tore up, demolished, I'm fuckin' stoned like Oliver |
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Like I looked Medusa in the eyeball to seduce her |
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The thoughts I produce are loony tunes |
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The box of reusable latex gloves and the socks and the shoes |
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That were placed next to Veronica's boobs |
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And the paycheck stubs that were stuffed in the glove box |
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In a blue Honda with used condoms were clues |
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The girl was just not the one suitable for him |
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Right for me, (that will) change me, rearrange my head to be |
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Just right for you and me, don't laugh, please listen, to me |
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Thought I'd give in to the pressure |
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Collapse and crumble perhaps |
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Relapsing under that |
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Well that's a bunch of crap |
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In the clutch, I'm the Captain Crunch of rap |
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And I'm sick of acting humble, that's enough of that |
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Fuck that shit, cud the sack |
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Like it's a natural reaction |
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That's why I'm actually trapped in this shoving match |
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Cause push keeps coming to that |
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I can keep getting my ass kicked and coming back |
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Like a sarcastic crumpled sack of shit, still mad |
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Disgruntled, had some struggles, yeah |
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But that passion and hunger's back |
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What a fantastic juggling act |
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And the way I flip my tongue on the track |
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It's like verbal acrobatics |
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But in fact |
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Last time I tried to pull off a dramatic stunt as drastic |
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I fuckin' crashed my hovercraft |
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After I strapped a duffel bag to my back |
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And stuffed a massive punchin' bag in it |
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And an elastic bungee strap, rubber, plaster, a thumb tack |
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And a piece of plastic bubble wrap |
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Went spastic and fuckin' snapped |
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Jumped and splashed in a puddle of battery acid |
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Stumbled back, recovered, back flipped |
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And landed on a gymnastic tumble mat |
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And for my last trick, lunge on back |
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Latch on a NASA shuttle flap, fuckin' snap the rudder in half |
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Chuckled and laughed, utter my last rebuttal |
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And just as I'm to come crashin' |
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I grab my Go-Go-Gadget inflatable gigantic humongous mattress |
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And ceramic construction hat |
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Rub my magic mushroom tat |
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For luck then splat, get up from that |
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Face taped to a waste paper basket |
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Throw up then gasp, lungs collapsed |
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And that's more likely than finding someone that's |
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Right for me, (that will) change me, rearrange my head to be |
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Just right for you and me, don't laugh, please listen, to me |
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Couple of shots of J盲ger |
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Public intoxication, dis-fuckin'-combobulation |
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Flooded with thoughts of anger |
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While I was away I know probably some of you got to thinkin' |
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"You're top ten ain't cha?" stop it, you fuckers are talkin' crazy |
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And stop interrupting you're not even up in that conversation |
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Whether you're punchin' a clock or famous |
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Underground, pop, or nameless, whatever your job is |
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I give a fuck what's your occupation |
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You're thinkin' just cause you came in with scrubs |
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And you brought the scalpel and sponge |
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The oxygen tank and the suction and shot the brain surgeon |
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Stuck in the operating room |
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Once you done swapped your name with him |
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Smuggled in Ronald Reagan |
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If you dug him up; Donald Fagen |
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While juggling waffles, bacon |
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A fuckin' McDonalds egg and cheese sausage bagel finagled it |
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Flung it across the table |
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Then bump it and knock it shake it |
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Jumped and got in the way then disrupted my concentration |
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I said fuck it and lost my patience |
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They all woke up from sedation |
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Ain't none of you Dr Dre |
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So then what is it got you thinkin' |
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You can fuck with this operation? |
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Aftermath, still running hip-hop amazing |
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I'm still pluggin' along |
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No need for an assumption |
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Here's confirmation |
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I'm up for the long duration |
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I'm just looking for something to walk away with |
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Some pocket change and a little integrity |
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Though I'll probably be jumpin' across the stage |
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'Til I'm fuckin' Madonna's age and |
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Stuck in an awkward place in my life |
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But I shit you not like I'm plugged up with constipation |
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That day will come before I finally stumble upon some lady that's |
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Right for me, (that will) change me, rearrange my head to be |
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Just right for you and me, don't laugh, please listen, to me |
