Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Book of Rhymes, artist - Eminem. Album song Music To Be Murdered By - Side B, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 17.12.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Aftermath, Interscope Records Release;, Shady Records
Song language: English
Book of Rhymes |
I don't smile, I don't frown, get too up or get too down (Nah) |
I was here, so were you, you came and went, I stuck around (Yeah) |
Still here now, stop me how? |
Your opinion's like a broken calculator |
That shit doesn't count |
Shut your motherfuckin' mouth |
I'm emptyin' (I'm emptyin') my book of rhymes (My book of rhymes) |
Get 'em all off my pad, every thought that I had |
I said I'm emptyin' (I'm emptyin') my book of rhymes (My book of rhymes) |
Get 'em all off my pad (Yeah), every thought that I had (I'm eastside) |
Haven't used all the tricks I have, so like my balls, I'm in my bag (My bag) |
Get a littlе teste when I'm mad (I'm mad), sick of wrеstling this iPad (iPad) |
Unsuccessfully, I might add (Might add) |
And I know it's best to leave it lie |
But even I get obsessed with reading everything |
And let it get the best of me 'til I snap ('Til I snap) |
But I need to get off the internet (Get off the internet) |
I need to get on the mic (Get on the mic) |
You need to get off the internet (Internet) |
You need to get you a life |
Why you waste time just to comment on shit? |
(Comment on shit) |
Especially shit you don't like (Shit you don't like) |
Don't like it, don't listen, but don't tell me 'bout your favorite rapper rippin' some shit he didn't write (Shit he didn't write) |
What happened to Slim? |
He was no cap with the pen |
He used to rap like the people his music was for |
He was exactly like them |
The dude who used to be poor, why can't he tap into him? |
Can't use that excuse anymore |
He's mad at the wind, he's in a nuclear war |
With a cloud, he's yellin' at it again |
I talked to your mother, she told me she loved me |
All she wanna do is just hold me and hug me |
Wants nobody but me, she showed me the Dougie |
Can I get a witness like notary public? |
(Preach) |
She said, "Kick some fly shit" (Fly shit) |
I said, "I got wings on my ass" (Wings on my ass) |
Told her my dick's a cockpit (Dick's a cockpit) |
I fly by the seat of my pants (Seat of my pants) |
Sinful thoughts, this beat is crazy, this shit's retarded |
This instru's mental (This instru's mental) to mini-bars, incidental charges |
When did it start? |
I been cold-hearted in this heart since kindergarten |
Mental sharpness which makes Slim a walking dentist office, bitch, I invented flossin' |
Yeah, I used to wonder (I used to wonder) where my next meal's gonna come from (Meal's gonna come from) |
Now, I just wonder (Now I just wonder) where my next mill's gonna come from (Mill's gonna come from) |
I cannot have no success (Have no success), unless when I finally make it (Finally make it) |
I get to remind all the haters (Remind all the haters) who shitted on me when I'm on my way up (I'm on my way) |
My floor is y'all fool's ceilings |
If I was you, I would step or find yourself twisted |
That's how you'll wind up like spiral stairs |
I will swear on a stack of Bibles |
I will tear new behinds out of rivals, even your idols, I don't care |
It's Music to Be Murdered By, so Bon Iver can swallow a fuckin' Ja Rule bobblehead |
And die slow like Alzheimer's (Ha-ha) |
Lone sniper, I hold a microphone like a loaded rifle |
My dome's brighter, all I spit from my skull's fire |
All that's missing's a motorcycle with the chrome wires, spoke tires |
And y'all are flow biters, so I don't gotta |
Explain why they call me your ghostwriter |
I'm emptyin' (I'm emptyin') my book of rhymes (My book of rhymes) |
Get 'em all off my pad, every thought that I had |
I said I'm emptyin' (I'm emptyin') my book of rhymes (My book of rhymes) |
Get 'em all off my pad, every thought that I had (Illa) |
Haven't used all the tricks I have, so like my balls, it's in my bag |
I tend to get a little testy when I'm mad |
But gift of gab and pen to pad turn temper tantrums into anthems |
Put lips to ass and kiss the cracks, spit your damnedest |
You're still gonna hit the canvas |
Rippin' rappers, veterans to whippersnappers |
Mr. Mathers is killin' this shit, villainous wit with scant less |
Syllables rip the planet, biblical shit's finna hit the fan |
Anybody wanna go tit for tat's gonna get hit with that |
Then the amygdala hippocampus is gonna trigger the ignoramus |
To think of the most ridiculous shit to spit then |
Pit it against these pitiful rappers |
Insidious, these idiots wittiest shit against me shitty as MC Hammer's |
Get your whole squad, send a task force in |
If you want it, you're 'bout to get what you asked for then |
Put your helmet on, strap your chin |
You're 'bout to get you a crash course in |
Who not to start a motherfuckin' rap war with |
Or to go against, fuck would you wanna do that for? |
No offense, but are you retards slow or dense? |
A fuckin' penny has more sense |
Yeah, now you gotta get killed, but it's not a big deal, but every thought is so ill |
And so methodical, thought I swallowed a pill |
I'm starting to feel like I'm an automobile |
With Barnacle Bill inside the car at the wheel |
Inside a carnival, 'cause I'm plowin' into everyone who wrote snidey articles |
And that explains why the fuck you clowns are all in my grill |
Joy and pain, fortune, fame, torture, shame, choice I made |
Swore someday the world would pay less to lose, more to gain, daughters raised |
Yesterday, glory days, adored and praised, ignored the hate |
Addressed the fake, toured with Dre, tore a page from Jordan came |
Destroyed the game before you came, enjoy your stay |
Before it's gone away, but the more you claim that you're gonna point and aim |
If it joined a gang, your shit isn't going to bang |
You're just boring, lame and more of the same |
You have an enormous chain, but a stormless brain |
The most you can form is rain |
Your shit is pointless, same as a scoreless game |
So, bitch, quit lyin', you're denyin' like Mr. Porter's name (Haha) |
Borderline bipolar disorder since my stroller |
Eyes rollin' back in my skull like Eli Porter |
Fire mortar (Brr) rounds, Ayatollah, every iota I load up |
I owe to my motor mouth |
This is my note to self |
Sometimes you're gonna bomb |
So you just might have to blow yourself up with no one's help |
I just wrote it down in my book of rhymes |
Preemo, take us out |
Writin' in my book of rhymes |
My book of rhymes, my book of rhymes |
I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm eastside |
Writin' in my book of rhymes |
My book of rhymes, my book of rhymes |
I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm eastside |