Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Marshall Mathers, artist - Eminem.
Date of issue: 19.08.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Marshall Mathers |
You know I just don’t get it |
Last year I was nobody |
This year I’m sellin records |
Now everybody wants to come around like I owe em somethin |
Heh, the f*ck you want from me, ten million dollars? |
Get the f*ck out of here |
You see I’m, just Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers) |
I’m just a regular guy |
I don’t know why all the fuss about me (fuss about me) |
Nobody ever gave a f*ck before |
All they did was doubt me (did was doubt me) |
Now everybody wanna run they mouth |
And try to take shots at me (take shots at me) |
Yo, you might see me joggin, you might see me walkin |
You might see me walkin a dead rottweiler dog |
With it’s head chopped off in the park with a spiked collar |
Hollerin at him cause the son of a b*tch won’t quit barkin |
(Grrrr, ARF ARF) Or leanin out a window, with a cocked shotgun |
Drivin up the block in the car that they shot 'Pac in |
Lookin for Big’s killers, dressed in ridiculous |
Blue and red like I don’t see what the big deal is |
Double barrel twelve gauge bigger than Chris Wallace |
Pissed off, cause Biggie and 'Pac just missed all this |
Watchin all these cheap imitations get rich off 'em |
And get dollars that shoulda been there’s like they switched wallets |
And amidst all this Crist' poppin and wristwatches |
I had to sit back and just watch and just get nauseous |
And walk around with an empty bottle of Remi Martin |
Startin sh*t like some 26-year-old skinny Cartman («God damnit!») |
I’m anti-Backstreet and Ricky Martin |
With instincts to kill N’Sync, don’t get me started |
These f*ckin brats can’t sing and Britney’s garbage |
What’s this bitch retarded? |
Gimme back my sixteen dollars |
All I see is sissies in magazines smiling |
Whatever happened to whylin out and bein violent? |
Whatever happened to catchin a good-ol' fashioned |
Passionate ass-whoopin and gettin your shoes coat and your hat tooken? |
New Kids on the Block, s*cked a lot of dick |
Boy/girl groups make me sick |
And I can’t wait 'til I catch all you faggots in public |
I’ma love it. |
(hahaha) |
Vanilla Ice don’t like me (uh-uh) |
Said some shit in Vibe to spite me (yup) |
Then went and dyed his hair just like me (hehe) |
A bunch of little kids wanna swear just like me |
And run around screamin, «I don’t care, just bite me» (nah nah) |
I think I was put here to annoy the world |
And destroy your little 4-year-old boy or girl |
Plus I was put here to put fear in faggots who spray Faygo Root Beer |
And call themselves «Clowns» cause they look queer |
Faggot2Dope and Silent Gay |
Claimin Detroit, when y’all live twenty miles away (f*ckin punks) |
And I don’t wrestle, I’ll knock you f*ckin faggots the f*ck out |
Ask 'em about the club they was at when they snuck out |
After they ducked out the back when they saw us and bugged out |
(AHHH!) Ducked down and got paintballs shot at they truck, blaow! |
Look at y’all runnin your mouth again |
when you ain’t seen a fuckin Mile Road, South of 10 |
And I don’t need help, from D-12, to beat up two females |
In make-up, who may try to scratch me with Lee Nails |
«Slim Anus,» you damn right, Slim Anus |
I don’t get fucked in mine like you two little flaming faggots! |
You see I’m, just Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers) |
I’m just a regular guy |
I don’t know why all the fuss about me (fuss about me) |
Nobody ever gave a f*ck before |
All they did was doubt me (did was doubt me) |
Now everybody wanna run they mouth |
And try to take shots at me (take shots at me) |
Cause I’m, just Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers) |
I’m not a wrestler guy, |
I’ll knock you out if you talk about me (you talk about me) |
Come and see me on the streets alone |
if you as*holes doubt me (assholes doubt me) |
And if you wanna run your mouth |
then come take your best shot at me (your best shot at me) |
Is it because you love me that y’all expect so much of me? |
You little groupie bitch, get off me, go f*ck Puffy |
Now because of this blonde mop that’s on top |
And this fucked up head that I’ve got, I’ve gone pop? |
The underground just spunned around and did a 360 |
Now these kids diss me and act like some big sissies |
«Oh, he just did some shit with Missy |
So now he thinks he’s too big to do some shit with MC Get-Bizzy» |
My f*ckin b*tch mom’s suin for ten million |
She must want a dollar for every pill I’ve been stealin |
Sh*t, where the fuck you think I picked up the habit? |
All I had to do was go in her room and lift up her mattress |
Which is it b*tch, Mrs. Briggs or Ms. Mathers? |
It doesn’t matter your faggot! |
Talkin about I fabricated my past |
He’s just aggravated I won’t ejaculate in his ass (Uhh!) |
So tell me, what the hell is a fella to do? |
For every million I make, another relative sues |
Family fightin and fussin over who wants to invite me to supper |
All the sudden, I got 90 some cousins (Hey it’s me!) |
A half-brother and sister who never seen me |
Or even bothered to call me until they saw me on TV |
Now everybody’s so happy and proud |
I’m finally allowed to step foot in my girlfriend’s house |
Hey-hey! |
And then to top it off, I walked to the newsstand |
To buy this cheap-ass little magazine with a food stamp |
Skipped to the last page, flipped right fast |
And what do I see? |
A picture of my big white a*s |
Okay, let me give you motherfuckers some help: |
uhh, here — DOUBLE XL, DOUBLE XL |
Now your magazine shouldn’t have so much trouble to sell |
Ahh f*ck it, I’ll even buy a couple myself |
You see I’m, just Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers) |
I’m just a regular guy |
I don’t know why all the fuss about me (fuss about me) |
Nobody ever gave a f*ck before |
All they did was doubt me (did was doubt me) |
Now everybody wanna run they mouth |
And try to take shots at me (take shots at me) |
You see I’m, just Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers) |
I’m just a regular guy |
I don’t know why all the fuss about me (fuss about me) |
Nobody ever gave a f*ck before |
All they did was doubt me (did was doubt me) |
Now everybody wanna run they mouth |
And try to take shots at me (take shots at me) |