| One thousand different houses and Münchhausen
|
| I’mma make you wanna punch out some-fucking-one
|
| «Ouch!"What the fuck’d you hit me for?
|
| Scream «life"as I punch counter and bunches out of anger
|
| I once encountered a stranger
|
| In a dumb gown, black hood
|
| With a scythe
|
| Shit I laughed in his face spit
|
| Bitch gave me an extra life, like «Take this!»
|
| Now get your ass back in that game, bitch
|
| Don’t take shit for granted
|
| And don’t take shit, give it!
|
| Only bull you should take is by the horns
|
| A mixture of Whitey Ford and Mighty Thor
|
| I everlast, pen is mightier than sword
|
| Finish writing then record
|
| Replenish, keep writing more
|
| Nothing’s riding on it but your pride is all you’re fighting for
|
| So you fight, scratch, you claw
|
| Back’s to wall
|
| No one was there to catch you fall
|
| You pick yourself back up, you dust your jacket off
|
| You grab your balls, like they’re gargantuan and
|
| Ask yourself how fucking bad you want it
|
| Pull out your pass for whooping ass and flash it on 'em
|
| Nobody’s gonna back you in the corner
|
| You’re a hornet
|
| No one’s more ignorant
|
| Than you fuckin' four in the morning
|
| You’re at the laboratory, storming
|
| Like there’s nothing that’s more important
|
| MC’s you better consider this a formal warning
|
| You’re in for it
|
| Girl, what would you do if I said your body was off the chain
|
| And I told you I smile every single time I saw your face?
|
| I ain’t finished, bitch
|
| I meant in half, oil the blades
|
| Nobody wants to play
|
| They say I’m a spoiled little baby
|
| But
|
| Nobody puts baby in the corner
|
| I’m only tryna warn ya
|
| 'Cause that baby gets mad
|
| And gets to throwing a tantrum
|
| He’ll fucking flip on ya
|
| 'Cause nobody puts baby in the corner
|
| I’m only tryna warn ya
|
| 'Cause that baby gets mad
|
| And gets to throwing a tantrum
|
| He’ll fucking flip on ya
|
| What goes through an addict’s brain?
|
| Besides static pain and Big Daddy Kane
|
| Breakbeats and words
|
| An erratic train of thought
|
| Like splatter paint
|
| Scatter-brained
|
| Yeah maybe that explains
|
| Why you’re back but don’t rap the same
|
| And you’re looking way thinner
|
| 'Cause your hunger got you looking like
|
| They took away dinner (chooka)
|
| «Sugar Ray"Leonard wouldn’t sugar-coat a fucking booger though
|
| Just to wipe that bitch on a hooker’s coat
|
| When you say you’re a chooka what chooka what
|
| Now fling that bitch from your fingertips
|
| Hope it lands on another rap singer’s lips
|
| Who can’t think of shit
|
| Anything of wit, that’s interesting to spit
|
| Who’s king of this fucking English Lit?
|
| Let your middle fingers flip on each hand
|
| While extending this shit
|
| How low can you go?
|
| Lower than Chuck D ho
|
| Hear the bassiness in my voice?
|
| Rocky’s back, where’s my Adrian?
|
| Nobody’s crazy as Shady in an eighty million mile radius
|
| I’m what Tom Brady is to the patriots to rap
|
| Not a man, I’m a weapon
|
| Who just happened to be a rapper
|
| Who just happen to be on the crapper
|
| When it happened I had an epiphany
|
| In the bathroom, I’d never be the same after
|
| Now I’m back with an appe-tite
|
| For destruction, the fucking recipe for disaster
|
| So let’s eat 'cause I’m famished
|
| Every deed is a dastardly one
|
| Evilish bastard, even you askin' for me to be po-lite
|
| To people’s like me havin' my teeth pulled
|
| Nobody puts baby in the corner
|
| I’m only tryna warn ya
|
| 'Cause that baby gets mad
|
| And gets to throwing a tantrum
|
| He’ll fucking flip on ya
|
| 'Cause nobody puts baby in the corner
|
| I’m only tryna warn ya
|
| 'Cause that baby gets mad
|
| And gets to throwing a tantrum
|
| He’ll fucking flip on ya
|
| So step inside a dimension
|
| The demented side of a mind
|
| That’s like an inside of an engine
|
| While I multiply your undivided attention
|
| But be reminded: if I didn’t mention
|
| I lose my mind and my temper
|
| You’ll be the first one
|
| Who finds him offensive
|
| Got him climbing the fences
|
| Lost some time to addiction
|
| But look up rhyme in the dictionary
|
| I’m in the picture
|
| Eminem is the synonym for it
|
| I’m an enigma
|
| Fuck it, let’s get to the meat balls
|
| I’m gonna skip the veg and potatoes
|
| Edumacator they are
|
| Shit legends are made of
|
| Spit treacherous data
|
| Shit that you would say to your worst enemy
|
| This wretched is
|
| What you get when you mix Treach with a Jada |
| Then combine 'em with Method Man and Redman
|
| With methamphetamines in his left hand
|
| And in his right there’s a sledge-hammer
|
| In pajamas, standing in front of a webcam
|
| Beating himself in the head, 'til Russell lets him off Def Jam
|
| Maybe I need my head examed
|
| Hannibal Lecter with a dead lamb
|
| Hanging from his ceiling dripping with a bed pan
|
| I need meds!
|
| Swear to God 'cause if I go off the edge
|
| T.I. |
| ain’t talking me off a ledge man
|
| Heart throb at a fart, ah nah
|
| More like a smart slob, part blob
|
| That’ll stab you with a sharp object
|
| To the heart and leave claw marks
|
| All over the Wal-Mart walls
|
| Little baby with large balls
|
| Fuck mud slinging, I’m blood flinging
|
| There’s nothing on this fucking Earth better than being
|
| The king of the playground
|
| I hate the swings but I love being an underdog
|
| 'Cause when I’m pushed
|
| I end up swinging up
|
| Nobody puts baby in the corner
|
| I’m only tryna warn ya
|
| 'Cause that baby gets mad
|
| And gets to throwing a tantrum
|
| He’ll fucking flip on ya
|
| 'Cause nobody puts baby in the corner
|
| I’m only tryna warn ya
|
| 'Cause that baby gets mad
|
| And gets to throwing a tantrum
|
| He’ll fucking flip on ya |