Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Almost Famous, artist - Eminem. Album song Recovery, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.06.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Aftermath
Song language: English
Almost Famous |
I stuck my d*ck in this game like a rapist |
They call me Slim Roethlisberger |
I go bezerker than a fed-up post-office worker |
A merk her with a Mossberg |
I’m pissed off get murdered |
Like someone took a ketchup squirter |
Squirted a frankfurter |
For a gangster you shoulda sh*t your pants |
When you saw the chainsaw get to waving |
Like a terrible towel |
I faced her around |
But his fangs come out |
Get your brains blown out |
That’s what I call blowing your mind |
When I come back |
Like nut on your spine |
I’m a thumb tack |
That you slept on son |
Now here I come screaming attack |
Like I just stepped on one |
Low on the totem till he showed 'em |
Defiance, giant scrotum |
He don’t owe them bitches shit |
His bridges, he out grow’d em |
He’s so out cold he’s knocked out of the South Pole |
And nobody fucks with him |
Rigamortis and post-mortem |
He’s dying of boredom |
Take your best rhymes, record 'em |
Then try to flaunt 'em |
He’ll just take your punch lines and snort 'em |
Shit stained drawers |
You gon fuck with a guy who licks the blades of his chainsaws |
While he dips 'em in P.F. |
Chang’s sauce |
Game’s up, homie, hang it up like some crank calls |
You think I’m backing down you must be out of your dang skulls |
I’m back for revenge |
I lost a battle that ain’t happening again |
I’m at your throat like strep |
I step, strapped with a pen |
Metaphors wrote on my hand |
Someone distorted my mint |
Read some I wrote on a napkin |
I do what I have to to win |
Pull at it all stops, any who touch a mic prior’s |
Not even Austin Powers, how the f*ck are they Mike Meyers |
And tell that psycho to pass the torch |
To the whack before I take a sh*t in his Jack-O-Lantern |
And smash it on his porch |
Now get off my d*ck |
Dick’s too short a word for my d*ck |
Get off my antidisestablishmentarianism, you prick |
You call me the champ; |
call me the space shuttle destroyer |
I just blew up the challenger, matter fact I need a lawyer |
I displaced my clause with enough plaster |
To make a cast beat his ass naked and peed in his corner like burn choyder |
You’re the Eminem backwards, you’re mini-me |
See he’s in a whole nother weight class |
He smokes your BB’s you beat back bullets |
You’re full of it; |
you were just in his CD’s |
Left at Infinite, now he’s back like someone pissed in his wheaties |
No peace treaties, he’s turned into a beast |
His new Slim Shady EP’s got the attention of the mighty D. R. E |
Now there he goes in Dre’s studio cuppin his balls |
Screaming the wood off the panel |
And cussing the paint off the walls |
Spewing his hate to these haters, showing no love for these brauds |
He ain’t given them shit, he says he’ll pinch a penny so hard |
He’ll leave a bruise on the bronze so dark you can see the mark |
With the scars, till Abraham Lincoln is screaming out AHH |
These metaphors and similes ain’t similar to them, not at all |
If they don’t like it, they can all get f*cked instead of s*cking him off |
They can go get a belt or a neck tie, to hand themselves by |
Like David Carradine they can go f*ck themselves and just die |
And eat sh8t while they at it |
He’s f*cking had it, he’s mad at the whole world |
So go to hell and build a snowman girl |
The bullies become bullied, the pu*sies get pushed |
Then they better pull me, take me back to 9th grade to school me |
Cus I ain’t looking back, only forward, this whole spot blowing |
Who coulda known he’d grow to be a poet and not know it |
And while I’m being poetic let me get a stoic and raise the bar |
Higher than my opinion of these winners and lords |
So bare witness to some biblical sh*t |
As a cold wind blowing this world ain’t gonna know what hit it |
He did it, he made it, he’s finally famous |