| I stuck my d*ck in this game like a rapist
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| They call me Slim Roethlisberger
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| I go bezerker than a fed-up post-office worker
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| A merk her with a Mossberg
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| I’m pissed off get murdered
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| Like someone took a ketchup squirter
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| Squirted a frankfurter
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| For a gangster you shoulda sh*t your pants
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| When you saw the chainsaw get to waving
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| Like a terrible towel
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| I faced her around
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| But his fangs come out
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| Get your brains blown out
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| That’s what I call blowing your mind
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| When I come back
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| Like nut on your spine
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| I’m a thumb tack
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| That you slept on son
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| Now here I come screaming attack
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| Like I just stepped on one
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| Low on the totem till he showed 'em
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| Defiance, giant scrotum
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| He don’t owe them bitches shit
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| His bridges, he out grow’d em
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| He’s so out cold he’s knocked out of the South Pole
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| And nobody fucks with him
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| Rigamortis and post-mortem
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| He’s dying of boredom
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| Take your best rhymes, record 'em
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| Then try to flaunt 'em
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| He’ll just take your punch lines and snort 'em
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| Shit stained drawers
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| You gon fuck with a guy who licks the blades of his chainsaws
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| While he dips 'em in P.F. |
| Chang’s sauce
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| Game’s up, homie, hang it up like some crank calls
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| You think I’m backing down you must be out of your dang skulls
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| I’m back for revenge
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| I lost a battle that ain’t happening again
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| I’m at your throat like strep
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| I step, strapped with a pen
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| Metaphors wrote on my hand
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| Someone distorted my mint
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| Read some I wrote on a napkin
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| I do what I have to to win
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| Pull at it all stops, any who touch a mic prior’s
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| Not even Austin Powers, how the f*ck are they Mike Meyers
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| And tell that psycho to pass the torch
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| To the whack before I take a sh*t in his Jack-O-Lantern
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| And smash it on his porch
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| Now get off my d*ck
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| Dick’s too short a word for my d*ck
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| Get off my antidisestablishmentarianism, you prick
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| You call me the champ; |
| call me the space shuttle destroyer
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| I just blew up the challenger, matter fact I need a lawyer
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| I displaced my clause with enough plaster
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| To make a cast beat his ass naked and peed in his corner like burn choyder
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| You’re the Eminem backwards, you’re mini-me
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| See he’s in a whole nother weight class
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| He smokes your BB’s you beat back bullets
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| You’re full of it; |
| you were just in his CD’s
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| Left at Infinite, now he’s back like someone pissed in his wheaties
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| No peace treaties, he’s turned into a beast
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| His new Slim Shady EP’s got the attention of the mighty D. R. E
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| Now there he goes in Dre’s studio cuppin his balls
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| Screaming the wood off the panel
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| And cussing the paint off the walls
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| Spewing his hate to these haters, showing no love for these brauds
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| He ain’t given them shit, he says he’ll pinch a penny so hard
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| He’ll leave a bruise on the bronze so dark you can see the mark
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| With the scars, till Abraham Lincoln is screaming out AHH
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| These metaphors and similes ain’t similar to them, not at all
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| If they don’t like it, they can all get f*cked instead of s*cking him off
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| They can go get a belt or a neck tie, to hand themselves by
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| Like David Carradine they can go f*ck themselves and just die
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| And eat sh8t while they at it
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| He’s f*cking had it, he’s mad at the whole world
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| So go to hell and build a snowman girl
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| The bullies become bullied, the pu*sies get pushed
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| Then they better pull me, take me back to 9th grade to school me
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| Cus I ain’t looking back, only forward, this whole spot blowing
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| Who coulda known he’d grow to be a poet and not know it
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| And while I’m being poetic let me get a stoic and raise the bar
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| Higher than my opinion of these winners and lords
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| So bare witness to some biblical sh*t
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| As a cold wind blowing this world ain’t gonna know what hit it
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| He did it, he made it, he’s finally famous |